Meanwhile in Italy
by Alfisti
Summary: Even the SWA has its rank and file, those making up the numbers.
1. CH01 Meanwhile in Italy

**MEANWHILE IN ITALY**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

* * *

_Special thanks to Kiskaloo|Kara & Michele and Professor Voodoo|Marisa & Elio and Genco for the loan of their characters… I hope I can do them justice._

* * *

**Chapter 01 – Meanwhile, in Italy**

"Is it for your daughter?"

Danilo Olivetti looked down at the black garment in his hands. Fuck, he hadn't thought that far...

"Yes, yes it is," he returned, with what he hoped was enough conviction to make it sound genuine.

The sales girl smiled. "Well, you have far better taste than most parents do. It is a bit dark though, only really meant as a base... the trend this season is looking to be to throw some colour into a girl's winter wardrobe, maybe some reds or yellows... you could even go pastels if bright colours are not her thing."

Danilo looked again at the opaque, loose fitting poncho, and decided to ignore the advice. After half an hour clicking around in an unsure and futile search of the internet, the handler-in-waiting had given up and gone to Priscilla: apparently the go-to girl for all things women's fashion at his new job. Her words had pre-empted what he had just been told for the second time today, but after a brief argument over what he was actually in search of she had been able to tell him what he should be asking for and write out a list of stores to try. That had eventually lead him here, the last stop in a quiet part of old Rome, and so far the pretty intelligence analyst's suggestions had been to a greater or lesser extent: right on the money.

"No, this will suit her just fine... I'll take three."

The shop assistant paused, apparently torn between querying what she perceived as a poor decision and the prospect of an easy sale behind her severe, squared-off fringe.

Eventually however the promise of a nice fat commission won out. "Of course, do you know what size she is?"

"Yes, same as this."

_Assuming of course the Medical Engineers had told him the correct dimensions._

Flicking through the racks until she found two more tops in the same sizing, the girl collected all three identical items and headed for the reclaimed wood counter and Apple laptop which served as the store's till.

"Well keep the receipt anyway, if they don't fit you can always bring them back. Cash or credit?"

"Credit."

The store clerk ran up his purchase and, as he paused trying to remember the pin for the new Agency credit card, folded each garment neatly to slip them together into a stiff-sided, recycled brown paper bag, eventually placing the receipt atop the fabric. Taking a moment to hand back her customer's card, she lifted the bag so that its sides would stay vertical and hold the contents in place before sliding it across the counter top, keeping it erect by the handles.

"I hope your daughter likes them."

Nodding his thanks the man took his purchase and headed for the exit, the girl looking contemplatively after him as the door swung shut with a tinkle of the bell above it.

_Probably shouldn't be too surprised: shaved head, black suit, black shirt, black tie and black shoes with a black trench coat draped over one arm; not a lot of room for variety and colour there._

Shrugging, she reached for a well-thumbed Wallpaper*, dropping it open at a random page in the hopes of finding something to amuse her until the next customer showed up.

* * *

Outside, Danilo stopped to slip on a pair of dark tea-shades, breathing in crisp late autumn air, and looked up and down the narrow Rome alley in which he stood. The sun didn't quite reach this deep in between the buildings, and the passage remained the realm of cheap electronics stores, back garages and others whom could not afford the overheads of a main-street window. Why anyone would come down here in search of fashion he couldn't fathom, even Priscilla had referred to it as "out of the way and not really my thing... but they might stock what you're looking for."

Across the way though a small coffee bar had sprung up, guarded by a battered single speed bicycle leaning outside its open roller door, whilst from the shop next to it small, carefully painted miniatures glared aggressively out from their shelves. His eye rested on those for a second: the 'manual', he had been given suggested some sort of hobby to help tune fine motor skills… he dismissed the thought: not for the small fortune those things cost.

At least, by Rome standards, it had been reasonably easy to find a park here, even if that was right on an intersection. Walking quickly to a black, five-door Honda Civic, its Perspex snout inches from the back of the next car in the hope of fitting it all in before the corner, he hit the central locking and slung open a rear door, dumping his purchase amongst the other bags already there. Pausing, the new agent did a quick count: two sets of GP boots from the disposal in generic shopping bags; four equally plain carry-alls in that recycled-plastic weave stuff which was supposed to save the planet or something, full of leggings, underwear, socks, PT gear and other basics from a cheap outlet store; a black nylon duffel, still in its wrapping, and a few other packages containing the accoutrements of life, the type which were never thought of until they weren't there.

None of it however was apparently going to make a girl presentable in public, but with this last stop having rectified that, it was time to turn for home... or at least what currently passed for home. There were one or two other items of clothing he would need before the fratello became operational, but those would be special order and he'd need a cyborg first, lest he have to get them replaced due to bad measurements.

_So at least until tomorrow then._

Shrugging, Danilo threw his own folded trench atop the bags and swapped doors to drop into the car's drivers' seat where two tiers of dashboard stared blankly back at him from behind cheap plastic.

_And speaking of things getting ready for replacement…_

Twisting the key, the handler-to-be fired his car's little four cylinder engine into life and turned for the autostrada south out of town.

* * *

"…the Blackers sent through another data packet as well. It's still being decrypted but they appear to have moved on to Ankara."

"…and only God knows where else in between."

Quirking a polite smile at her commander's comment, Chief Lorenzo's steward stood up again from where she had been collecting empty espresso cups, taking the opportunity to also cast a surreptitious glance at the crystal whiskey decanter placed behind his desk. It was difficult to tell now with Alboreto occasionally helping himself to the supply, but her charge seemed to be going easier on the stuff.

Picking up the last small cup, Tea placed it on a silver service and withdrew silently as the Chief looked up at the woman across the woodwork from him. "Do we have anyone to start dealing with that?"

Seated in one of the leather armchairs opposite, Ferro Milani flicked to the next page of her notebook. "Not right at this minute… Priscilla says she has a new analyst whom might be able to be spared in a week or two; young, but also apparently quite talented. She's assigned him some low-level inter-departmental decryption work for the time being until she can get a better feel for his capability. Once he's finished on that, if she's happy with his performance, his next task will be this latest data dump… and at least Blacker and Monique are switched on enough to pick out any really critical errors he might make and double check his work."

"I can't see Monique liking that idea."

"Probably not, but what she doesn't know won't hurt her… and I doubt either of them would be particularly happy with option B: which is palming it off to Public Safety to assess."

Lorenzo nodded slowly. "Point taken. In that case I'm happy with Priscilla's suggestion for the time being … however, before she puts him onto working operational data, I would like her to come and brief me on his progress. The Blackers may be the best able to do their own intelligence assessment, but they're also the fratello we can least afford to make mistakes with."

"Yes sir, I'll pass it along." Scribbling a note for herself, Ferro looked again at the book, "That's about it for today, except that Olivetti's cyborg is being activated tomorrow morning; though I think the medical staff will be here shortly to brief you on that and ask for the final green light themselves."

The Chief looked at his computer's clock. "In about twenty minutes, yes. Has he decided on a name for her yet?"

The support manager rustled more pages. "C. Raych , according to what I have here."

"What does the 'C' stand for?"

"I don't know, and Olivetti is not letting on either yet… though Bianchi said he was quite insistent about it."

* * *

_Honestly, would it kill them to number the rooms?_

Walking along the row of identical looking doors, Danilo counted off how many he had passed since reaching the top of the stair. It had taken awhile to track down a bunking plan for the cyborg warehouse; and having finally found his way through the Agency's electronic filing system he'd made sure to email the Ferro woman the document ensuring it was up to date. With her somewhat curt guarantee it was, the man felt confident enough to give the door at his destination a quick rap, shifting the two bundles of bags he carried a little before swinging it open.

_If he was wrong, at least it would now be someone else's fault._

Inside, an Asian-featured girl stood hurriedly from where she had been sat cleaning a DSG-1 sniper rifle, on the room's obviously unoccupied second bed.

"Good evening Sir!"

Pausing, Danilo took in what lay before him. The room was a reasonable size allowing a comfortable gap between two separate beds, and furnished in mirror image: the two beds, two desks, two wardrobes, two desk lamps. There however the similarities ended. While the side of the room the cyborg had been working in contained agency standard Laminex, MDF and hardwood hand-me-downs, the other was much more plush and obviously selected by someone who could afford to spend a few extra Euro. While he was no expert, none of what was there looked cheap: the bed's mattress appearing thicker and softer; the work desk topped by a small Apple laptop and the shelves beside it stuffed with books. At the bed's other end deep, frosted glass front wardrobes stood, bending around in an L shape to the door, their tops scraping the ceiling to give their owner plenty of storage. Some of the creep was even starting to encroach across the room, a low media unit topped by another row of books and a few magazines between the two tall windows, a couple of beanbags scattered in front of it.

Looking back to the room's sole occupant, a bit of information was thrown up in the back of the man's head. "You must be Pagani's cyborg."

"Yes, I'm Kara Deleroux, Michele's my handler."

Internally, Danilo suppressed a scowl at the tacked-on second name. "I'm Danilo Olivetti, my cyborg will be rooming with you from tomorrow, I don't know if you were informed or not. I just needed to drop her things; don't let me keep you from what you were doing."

"Oh it's not urgent, Michele just says my rifle should be cleaned before he returns it to the armoury."

_Well that at least he could approve of._

Turning his back on Kara, the man extracted a small knife from one pocket and started cutting the tags from what he had purchased, stashing each garment in an old wooden wardrobe which had assumedly been left by some past tenant.

"You know you really should wash those first."

"Let know C. Raych, she can wash them if she wants."

"I will!"

Turning to tear open another bag, Danilo eyed the room again. "Your handler bought all this for you?"

From where she had moved to one of the beanbags, Kara beamed. "Yes, he says I should be comfortable when staying here, though sometimes he lets me stay at his apartment in Milan too…"

Danilo was suddenly glad he hadn't been drinking anything, just managing to turn his cough of surprise into a non-committal grunt; he was going to need to find this Pagani to get the handler's side of the story. From what he had read or heard, any cyborg was as likely to talk up her relationship with her handler... at least he hoped that was the case.

"…and sometimes…" the girl's voice trailed off as her current companion turned his back to her again, and out of sight and out of mind the cyborg went back to cleaning her rifle, eyes however remaining on what was unpacked for her new roommate.

She was just starting to fit the DSG's components into its waterproof case as Danilo dumped one set of clothes and pair of black boots into the plain duffle bag he had bought.

"I'm sure I don't need to tell you not to touch anything."

With which he was gone, leaving Kara suddenly slightly apprehensive about what time with this man traipsing in and out may hold.

Out in the hall, Danilo glanced at his watch; if he was quick he should have just enough time to drop past his room and make it to the armoury before the front desk's evening closing time. Picking up the pace, the new agent made his way back to the stairs and down, past two younger cyborgs whom stood aside politely to let him through, more the behaviour he had been expecting to see, back to ground level.

"Who was that? A new handler?"

Beside her red-headed companion, the neatly dressed brunette of the pair shook her head, setting her bob-cut swaying. "I don't know Mari."

"Well, he came from up on the Second Gen floor, come on, we'll see if someone up there knows."

Dashing up the stairs, her short haired friend following more sedately behind, 'Mari' made it quickly to the building's second level, pausing to scan the hall. While there was still room for more girls on the first floor occupied by the Gen 1s someone, somewhere along the line, had decided to separate the second generation of cyborgs out. At the end of the day, it had probably been the right thing to do; if only to prevent crowding of the ablutions.

The rooms here were more modern in their fitout: gyprock and suspended ceilings lining more ancient architecture; and preventing a curious cyborg from investigating suspended trusses and air-conditioning ducts and protecting it from damage. Further up the hall, one of the doors had been left ajar, letting a thin strip of light break out across hard-wearing carpet. As the short haired girl arrived, her companion pointed at it.

"Lets try Kara's room."

Moving to knock on the door and poke her head around it, Mari found Kara standing in front of the room's spare wardrobe, now open, contemplating its interior.

"Hi Kara."

"Oh hi Marisa, Henrietta."

"Watcha doing?"

The Asian featured Gen 2 motioned at the wardrobe, as from outside floated the sound of a four cylinder engine starting, before thrumming away accompanied by the sound of tyres crunching on gravel. "Apparently I'm getting a new roommate, her handler just came past to drop off her things."

"Ha! I was right! Did you get a name?"

"Danilo Olivetti… I think his cyborg's name was Raych."

"You _think_?"

"Well he never said anything formally, her name just sort of came out in passing, but I assume that was it."

Squeezing through the door, the two younger girls looked past their sister to also contemplate the wardrobe's contents.

"That's a lot of black," intoned Marisa finally.

"Does Raych like black?"

"Don't know, but her handler was wearing a lot of it… don't touch!" With the last words, Kara reached out to push Henrietta's hand downward, "Mr. Olivetti said not to touch."

"So you're just going to stand here and _look_ at it?"

"Well… he didn't say anything about not doing that."

"_Boooooring_… come on 'Etta, lets go see if Allison's around."

As the two ducked again out of her room, Kara returned her attention to what lay before her. Marisa had been right: there _was_ a lot of black; in fact it was all black, as if someone were determined to spend the remainder of their lives prepared to attend a funeral. Still, for having appeared so cold and disinterested in what she, Kara, had had to say, Danilo seemed to have gone to a lot of effort to make sure his own girl would have everything she needed on the first day.

_Maybe she didn't have quite so much to worry about after all._

Feeling a little guilty for having pried, she shut the wardrobe and looked over at her desk to where her homework from the day's classes had been neatly stacked…

_History, math, English… Yay._

* * *

Crunching to a halt in the armoury/shooting range car park, Danilo picked up a small, plastic tool case and nylon bag from the passenger seat and, locking the vehicle, made his way down into the building's semi-sunken depths. Even with its low profile, the bunker-like structure had not been difficult to find; aided by the time he had spent memorising the compound layout… there was no way known he was going to get caught out blundering around like some rookie.

Opening the door, he was met with harsh, fluorescent lighting, accompanied by the faint whiff of cordite and gun oil. This was better; this he was far more at home with than high-streets and fashion stores.

From one of the doors leading off the front room came faint sounds of weapons fire, muffled behind heavy concrete and wood. Ignoring them for the time being however, Danilo made his way instead to the armoury counter.

"Danilo Olivetti, I had a message to say my order had arrived?"

The clerk behind the counter nodded but said nothing for a minute whilst he searched through his computer.

"Olivetti… ah yes, it has," there was another quick pause, "I understand these are to become your fratello's personal sidearms?"

"That's correct."

Rather than present a ready clipboard, that response produced another flurry of mouse clicks, leaving the handler-in-waiting to stand by, drumming his fingers pointedly on the bench top. On the far wall, a couple of coats had been hung; waiting to keep their owners warm in the cooling autumn evening outside, and he took the moment to add his own to the collection.

Eventually the buzz of a cheap inkjet printer cut its way through the space, bouncing off hard surfaces, drowning out the low noise of the TV set above the coat rack. Attaching the first page to a clipboard as it completed, the clerk slid it over to Danilo with a pen. "I'm going to need to get you to fill out one of these for each firearm, but you may as well get started while I retrieve the things from the back."

"There's only the two?"

"Yes, I'm afraid your carbines and shotgun are proving slightly more problematic."

As he said it, the second form finished printing, and he took the moment to hand it over before slipping out the small office's door.

Left to his own devices, the room's only other occupant looked around, before heading to a long plastic bench bolted hard against the rear wall; no point in cluttering up the counter for others whom may wish to use it. Sitting down with a reasonable degree of comfort and leaning back against the cool concrete wall, he set about filling in the information which would secure his fratello their everyday firearms.

For an organisation which rode the very edge of the medical-science and bio-engineering envelope this all was… rather low-tech. The actual medical branch facility had seemed a bit more on the money for what he had been expecting but... pens, paper and an inkjet printer… used to replicate a poor quality scan someone had taken? Even some of the Guardia's systems had been more up to date.

The first form had just been completed, and set aside to be copied from, when the door to the range opened, briefly releasing the crack and bang of weapons fire, along with two people; one tall and slightly gaunt, the other female with long, golden hair tied up into twin tails. The latter was wearing a classically cut three-piece suit, and eyed Danilo suspiciously as her companion lifted their coats down, saying something quietly as hers was handed over. The man however shook his head a little in reply, and stepped over to where the new-hire was seated, holding out a hand.

"You are new here? Victor Hillshire."

"The detective," he took the proffered hand, "Danilo Olivetti."

The other man looked slightly taken aback, but quickly recovered. "Ah, our new handler…"

"You've heard of me?"

"…a few things here and there, this is Triela."

Danilo glanced at the girl he'd heard referred to as 'The Princess'… so this was one of the first generation girls he was supposed to be replacing. His attention however focused back on the handler and, realising nothing more was going to be said, the man continued in his German accented Italian.

"I haven't seen you around much."

"No, most of my time has been spent with the medical department trying to get my cyborg squared away before activation. They're an intelligent enough group down there, but sometimes need to be given information two or three times before catching on to what you're telling them, so it seemed easier to just keep an eye on there from up close."

_I'm sure Bianchi loved that._

Not rising to the bait however, Hilshire put on an expression of polite enquiry. "So when is your girl scheduled to be activated?"

"8am tomorrow… I was actually just down here to pick up our firearms."

"Well in that case, we shall let you get on with it, have a good evening."

"And you."

Beside the German, his cyborg looked up at the new handler, "It was a pleasure to meet you."

The pleasantry though somehow never seemed to reach her eyes.

Listening to their shoes tap away toward the exit, Danilo sat down to finish filling out his second form and, five minutes later, carried both up to the armoury window.

The clerk had returned by now. Scanning the neatly printed information, he lifted two identical plastic boxes up, placing them between himself and his customer. "It's unusual to see a handler picking up a new weapon on arrival, most tend to bring what they're comfortable with across from their last employer."

Lifting one box down, Olivetti unclipped its lid to inspect the pleasingly formed plastic firearm inside. "No, we had Berettas in the Guardia, but there's nothing wrong with trying something different: particularly when what you were working with before was essentially out-dated technology."

"Don't go saying that to the 1911 fans."

"They're welcome to them; I've never understood the attraction, let alone the attempts to keep their damn paperweights relevant."

"Well, lucky for you they seem to be more an American obsession anyway… but the fact still stands that things like the Beretta and Hi Power are still serving people and organisations just fine the world over. If it ain't broke…"

"That just means someone didn't want to spend the time and money to find something better and do it properly." Closing the lid, Danilo glanced across the countertop. "What is the standard firearm here anyway?"

"92FS."

That brought a little tsk but no further comment. "I'll be wanting four hundred rounds of 9mm as well."

Shrugging, the clerk produced another form, this one pre-printed, sliding it across the countertop, before turning to step out of the office again. Filling it out quickly (the information really didn't change wherever you went, it was just a matter of figuring out in what order the little spaces to put it in were arranged), the ex-Guardia man gave the second box's contents a brief once over before the clerk returned, swapping what he carried for the form.

Content with what was written there, he looked over at the future handler. "Did you need ear and eye protection?"

That was met with a shake of the head as the nylon bag was lifted into vision. "No, I've got my own."

"Well then, the range is yours."

Donning an expensive set of electronic ear protectors and shooting glasses, Danilo left the nylon bag beneath where his coat hung. On inspection, his were a little scuffed around the edges, but an identical, shiny new set now resided in the bottom of his cyborg's wardrobe, ready for her use. It had been tempting to take them for himself and leave her the hand me downs, but that thought had been quickly shaken free: everyone deserved to have at least one issue of nice, freshly minted kit.

Finding an empty lane near the door, he left one of the guns with a stack of targets on the bench back against the rear wall. Opening the case he had enjoyed less time to inspect, he pulled one of the magazines from dense, protective foam rubber. For a moment he held it up to the light before, content it was visually alright, starting to load 9mm FMJ rounds into its open top. Around him, the indoor range still had a few users on it, including another fratello, but that was ok: it was evening now and they would be likely to have started to empty out as well by the time he was ready to start loosing rounds.

One magazine full, he started on the next. Four hundred rounds should be enough to check his factory-fresh gun was working alright and zero the sights; not to mention that he would need to be back here tomorrow with , and it would do no good to be unfamiliar with what he was trying to train her on.

Finishing the second mag, Danilo Olivetti picked up the pistol he had chosen for his fratello to give it its own visual inspection, and slipped the freshly loaded magazine into its grip. Running out a target he lifted the gun, staring through its odd, trapezoidal sights.

_And to that end, there was no time like the present._


	2. CH02 A Brave New World

**MEANWHILE IN ITALY**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

**LINEBREAK**

**Chapter 02 – A Brave New World**

"_Three thousand repetitions between metres one-fifty and two hundred?"_

"_I like to think our methods are somewhat more refined than those of Mr. Huxley, though the concept is broadly similar…"_

Sitting in this cold white room, on this cold white chair, flicking through the conditioning component of his freshly minted cyborg's documentation folded inside its white-bound file; Doctor Bianchi's words floated unbidden across Danilo's mind. The assertion had rung true, and the amount of data he was being informed had been imprinted on this girl was frankly staggering; certainly more detailed and direct than a generalised dislike of the countryside, or aversion to being alone.

Glancing over at the lumpen, softly breathing form laying in the room's solitary bed, part of him remained dubious the medical staff were truly capable of pulling off such a feat without hitch or hiccup; or if they even _had_. His eyes flashed quickly to the long pane of thick, mirrored glass through which some of their number were even now invisibly peering in on this scene, safe in the darkened observation room. Holding the hidden gaze for another second his attention strayed further around to the reinforced corridor access, currently locked, and unbidden a hand moved to touch at the firearm now tucked below his left shoulder. The sleek plastic shape was heavy, magazine fully loaded with one in the chamber; not quite as comfortably reassuring as his previously issued Beretta, but…

Danilo shook himself, _he_ knew what he was here to do; and the gun choice was purposely new, modern, full of freshly developed materials and all the better for it; he had not exactly cried at consigning the heavy, bulky Beretta of his former employment to the annals of personal history. _This_ firearm's manufacturer had known their business and done it correctly, and as long as the Social Welfare Agency staff had similarly undertaken _theirs_ there was nothing to fear.

_Speaking of…_

He turned back to the open lever-arch folder, identified by a sticky printer label on the spine as containing part one of four of his cyborg's handover package; replete with annotations, notes and appendices from the various medical staff and engineers involved in her build. Their writings were fronted by a table of contents, with a thin sheaf of papers stacked in behind detailing what was known of his future charge's former life. That had been skipped over as all but irrelevant, though he had skimmed the interpretive report attached by Bianchi on how it may effect the girl's behaviour further in the future.

Giving a second reading of that a miss, he rifled further through more hole-punched pages to the performance sheet in the hope of making some better sense of it than his previous brief pass had allowed. That intention was however interrupted by a mumble from the bed. Looking over he was greeted by open eyes, a hand wiping at tears running down each soft cheek onto the stiff pillow case.

"You're awake."

The eyes flicked across, focusing while he carefully and unhurriedly arranged the pages in the folder and closed it, before placing it on the bedside table. Freed of its burden the handler-to-be reached down pick up a grey box; one of those he had acquired from the armoury the previous evening. Its twin now rested all but empty in his room, but this one remained unopened aside from the quick once over it had received upon collection. With the same methodical slowness he stood and walked around to the foot of the hospital bed, forcing the girl there to sit up against the headboard in order to keep him in sight, one arm holding the starchy sheet against her chest.

Coming to a halt Danilo flicked an impassive eye over what was presented there: dull, mousy, shoulder-length hair, and light brown eyes set into an expectant, worry-edged face; any potentially hard lines blunted by the same softness which rounded out broad shoulders.

Finally he broke the silence. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yes sir."

The silence hung again, before his eyebrows rose expectantly. "…and that is?"

"Oh, umm, you're Danilo Olivetti, my handler."

The ex-Guardia man gave the girl a curt nod of confirmation. "And do you know who and what _you_ are?"

"I am C. Raych, a general combat second generation cyborg of the Italian Social Welfare Agency, sir."

Another nod. "And your role is?"

"To protect Italy and serve the Social Welfare Agency and my handler, sir."

_So far then, so good._

Resting the case he carried on the end of the bed, Danilo reached up to release its clasps before opening it out to display its contents to the girl in front of him.

"Now, do you know what this is?"

There as a momentary pause as the firearm within, identical to the one he carried under his arm, was studied.

"Yes sir. It is a Steyr M9-A1 service pistol. The M9-A1 fires nine millimetre ammunition from a seventeen round magazine. Its unloaded weight is eight hundred and fifty-one grams and it has an overall length of one hundred and seventy-six millimetres. Improvements of the A1 over the original M9 pistol include revised grips, a forward mounted STANAG 2324 Picatinny rail and the inclusion of a +2 magazine butt-plate as standard. It is also available in… umm, would you like me to go on sir? I can if you would like."

Danilo closed up the case and the girl's face fell as the final catch snapped shut, then he placed it on the bed. "No C. Raych, that will be fine. This pistol is yours, so read the instructions and take good care of it."

The face lit up again. "Yes sir! I will, I promise!"

_So that was it. Deal sealed. Apparently he was, by the unofficial but generally accepted measure of those staff and handlers he had talked to, officially in charge of a cyborg now._

In the meantime Raych started to reach forward for the case, but a raised hand stopped her movement. "Not just yet. Now, out of bed."

"Huh?"

"Out of bed."

She reddened.

"_Now."_

Slowly, reluctantly, she slid from under thick sheets to stand naked and shivering beside the mattress in cool hospital air.

"Now, turn around… right around, slowly."

Standing back, Danilo watched as she did as instructed. The file had set her height at 166cm, and if it were not exact then she was close enough that he would also not be willing to argue the point. Weight though had been more difficult to get a handle on in terms of how it would translate into the artificially composed and internally armoured cyborgs' build. Now however, under cold fluorescent lights, his girl was revealed to be heavier set than most of her peers he had seen ranging around campus in his short SWA tenure. Not overweight per-se, but with heavy breasts set above a protruding belly and as she finished her turn the handler stepped forward to pinch flesh between his fingers, causing Raych to redden further, and turned to the mirrored glass.

"Doctors? What is this?"

Inside the observation room, Doctor Fernando Bianchi took a moment to readjust his expectations. The man's action was unusual on a number of levels, and the sentiment was echoed from the back of the room by the whispering voice of Priscilla as the SWA's lead intelligence analyst stated her own surprise to Ferro, the support team manager sat beside her at the small table.

Further along the glass, the stubble chinned Doctor Donato also looked over, leaning clear of his microphone's pickup, "First one I've seen do that," and Bianchi nodded agreement. The vast majority of handlers tended to try and ignore their observers, pretending the room was inhabited only by themselves and their new charge. Some cyborgs bought it, some did not… Jethro Blacker's had infamously knocked on the glass to ask the time after her handler disappeared from sight, leaving her to navigate across campus under her own steam; but few, if any he could remember had purposely highlighted that there may be others looking on.

Fortunately Bianchi's fellow medico recovered quicker, and shrugging, stepped forward again to key the inter-room microphone: if that was how Olivetti was going to play he saw no need to argue. "Raych needs to step into the Gen 1 girls' shoes and we upped her armouring scheme to suit and it had to go somewhere; it won't adversely effect her performance if that's your concern."

The doctor let go of the mic, carefully leaving out Raych's donor body having afforded them the luxury of that shape to begin with, one of the reasons she had made the candidate list, and the medical staff's head gave his colleague a nod of approval.

On the other side of the glass that explanation seemed to content Danilo also and, releasing his cyborg he stood to walk back around the bed. Lifting the black nylon duffle which had been placed behind he set it atop the sheets. "There a clothes in here and a photo of how to do your hair. Get dressed and I will be back to collect you in ten minutes."

Relief washed across his charge's face. "Yes sir."

Retrieving his folder, the handler turned on a heel and headed for the door as, inside the observation room, Bianchi released the lock remotely. Four quick steps had him into the corridor outside and through the adjacent entrance to join the watching SWA staff, as the girl's door swung itself shut with a heavy clunk of bolts. Inside, four sets of eyes two male, two female, swivelled to look at the new arrival.

"I wasn't told about her carrying any extra weight."

Now alone, Raych had managed to get her bag open on the second attempt and was beginning to unpack its contents. Priscilla looked like she wanted to say something, but a motion from Ferro stopped her. Turning away from the scene Donato started to reply, "It's not fat if that's the concern; the cyborgs aren't even capable of producing or processing it."

"And you're sure it won't impact her performance?"

"Not at all. She was on the heavier side pre-conversion, so if anything it should make it easier for her to acclimatise to the cybernetic body."

"What she may have more trouble with are those," Bianchi pointed to where, in the room over, Raych was extracting one of the sets of black leather boots Danilo had bought the previous day. "We're making leaps and bounds, but fine motor skills and hand-eye co-ordination are still tricky right after wakeup. Some handlers find that a hobby or musical instrument helps to an extent, we can give you a list of..."

"I know, I _did_ read the manual." The new handler scowled however, harsh light through the glass picking out lines on his face; that was not what he had wanted to hear. "Surely you have some way to calibrate them."

"Why do you think she hasn't bent the bed frame in half?" growled Donato.

"So what you're telling me is that the process isn't capable of fine adjustments yet."

"Where are you planning on taking her first?" Interjected Ferro, and out of view Bianchi gave her a tight smile of thanks. "Some of our facilities prefer to be notified if they are going to receive new cyborgs for the first time."

Pausing briefly to address the change of tack, Danilo turned to the new speaker. "I was going to take her for a drive around campus first, get her familiar with where she needs to go, then probably go to the indoor range and break in that pistol."

"You may not need to bother with that first part…" Bianchi had turned back to the cyborg's wakeup room and was speaking to the glass, beyond which Raych had managed to put on a set of underpants, but was now ineffectually batting at the clasp of her bra. "…Priscilla, could you go and help her?"

"Sure."

With that the pretty analyst pushed back her chair and headed for the door without another word.

"She really needs to learn to do these things herself."

The doctor turned to Danilo. "Eventually, but for the first few days she _will _require assistance. I believe she has a room mate?"

"Yes, Pagani's cyborg."

"Good."

In the far white room Priscilla appeared through the door and, with a cheery smile, stepped over to take both halves of the bra clasp from Raych's struggling fingers, quickly hooking them together.

"She's a multi-million Euro weapons system; surely getting dressed shouldn't present this much of a challenge."

"Like I said; fine motor skills… but back to what I was talking on before; you probably don't need to bother with the drive around campus," continued Bianchi, sidestepping another potential argument. "We've added a layout map to the standard knowledge package the girls get."

"I obviously had not got as far as that part of her file yet."

"It's recent, so the rundown would be toward the back."

"That would explain it," now the handler turned from the window to the head surgeon. "It's a pity you can't do that with, say, a map of Rome."

That brought a wry snort. "Baby steps, Mister Olivetti; I said it was a recent development… believe it or not most of the advances we make here are evolutionary and incremental rather than revolutionary. Raych may not have been provided a full map of Italy in her base knowledge, but sometime in the future another girl will be."

"I assume it's possible to rewrite that new data onto an existing cyborg?"

"Not without completely rebooting her, no. No matter what you might think this is not The Matrix; these girls still have human brains, not computers, in their skulls… however the best science-fiction _is_ rooted in science-fact, and we're doing our best to move it along. Unfortunately real life takes a little longer to manipulate than putting words on a page."

By now Priscilla had her temporary charge dressed in black leggings, a poncho-top, and had moved on to letting Raych try to do up her boots. On the third unsuccessful attempt, the elder woman gently took over from a dejected looking cyborg.

"Oh don't worry sweetness, it'll come in time."

The girl however still looked unhappy. "I don't think I can protect Danilo like this."

"Patience; the first few days are always difficult, but you'll start to get the hang of the fiddly things eventually… he knows that too."

_If not, I'll make sure he finds out._

Finishing the first set of laces, the young intelligence superintendent moved onto the girl's other foot. Leaving the upper two hooks of the high combat boot undone she twisted the tough strands once over themselves, before wrapping them around Raych's calf, causing the top of the leather to flare out, and tied off with a loose double bow.

Slapping the footwear on either side with her hands, the woman stood up with a grin. "There, that looks better! Hot tip: never lace this sort of boot all the way up or you'll look like you just walked off a parade ground."

She gave a conspiratorial wink which was answered by an awkward smile. "Now lets see what we can do about your hair."

"Oh! Umm, Danilo left me a photo of how to do it."

"Did he now…"

The girl rummaged in her bag and Priscilla took the proffered picture depicting a high-set, low-maintenance top-knot. _Not imaginative but, well… 'low maintenance' was probably the key here._

"It's not exactly…" she decided not to rock the boat further. "…lets do this."

Extracting a cheap brush and elastic tie from the bag, the woman ran the former through the girl's hair to straighten out any knots before putting it down and slipped the elastic circlet over her wrist. Then she gathered up the shoulder length strands, working inwards so they pulled back from Raych's forehead and neck to the top of her scalp before, with a deft movement, winding them together in a tight bun which was fastened in place with the tie.

"Done! There, you look good now, very avant-garde."

"Is that a good thing?"

Priscilla paused, 'avant-garde' was not really to her personal taste but… "I think it's what your handler wants."

Raych edged a timid smile.

"Do you want to see what else he has in this bag?"

That was met with a more enthusiastic nod. However, before either could move, there was a clack of electric bolts withdrawing and Danilo entered the room.

"Ten minutes are up, pack your things C. Raych."

"Yes sir," the voice was quieter again.

As she started to do as instructed Olivetti turned to the room's other adult occupant. "Thank you for your help Priscilla."

The woman forced her own smile. "No problem. If Raych has any issues you need a hand with, you know where to find me."

"Of course."

Looking back to his new charge, Danilo found her standing quietly with her bag in one hand and the case containing her Steyr in the other.

"Come on then."

Handler leading, the Social Welfare Agency's most recently minted fratello turned through the door toward the world outside, its younger component trotting a respectful step behind and to the right of her instructor; leaving Priscilla alone in the cold cell.

Showing discharge papers, signed earlier with Bianchi and cleared by Ferro, along with his ID badge to the guard at the wing's front security station, Danilo stepped out into cool autumn air and paused to scan the car park for where he had left the Civic.

The medical building was one of the more recently constructed on campus; which was not saying much as some buildings dated back almost to the Middle Ages. While it had received a partial refit when the medical arm moved in, its car park remained a sprawling expanse of gravel. Behind her handler, Raych shivered under the loose fabric of her top, before following at his heels as he started moving again.

In stark contrast to the parking near the handlers' building, the metal here was somewhat less expensive and the small Japanese hatchback was found squeezed between an aging silver Alfa Romeo 156 estate and a somewhat newer Fiat. As they approached the handler hit the key fob to unlock it and pop the boot.

"Is this your car sir?"

Halting at its tail, the man lifted the hatch before answering. "It is, but don't get too attached; it won't be with us for much longer… put your gear in here."

"Yes sir. Do you not like your car?"

"I'm buying a newer, better one…" he closed the boot, effectively ending the conversation. "Get in the back."

"Yes sir."

Pulling out of the park they travelled in silence, accompanied only by the humming engine and rumble of tyres on coarse bitumen, until Danilo turned down toward the indoor range's sunken bunker.

"Do you know where we are?"

The girl craned around the front passenger seat, fetching up against her inertia-reel seatbelt but wiggled in its grasp until she could just see out the windscreen. "Yes sir. We've just come from the medical wing and that in front of us is the armoury and small arms range. It contains fourteen lanes for the use of SWA personnel, as well as firearms and ammunition for operational personnel. It is considered good practice for fratelli to store their long arms here and not in the cyborg dormitory."

_Seemingly Bianchi's conditioned map worked then._

In the front seat the handler hid a thin smile; that last bit had been interesting. During orientation he had been informed the SWA would prefer anything more potentially powerful than a sidearm were stored in the armoury, rather than within easy access of unsupervised cyborgs, but he had not realised the idea was programmed into the cyborgs themselves as well.

_Another recent addition?_

In the silence there was a small noise from the back seat. "Umm, was that correct sir?"

"Yes, it was correct. Well done."

As they pulled into a spare parking space, the girl beamed.

"Out, and bring your gun."

Leading again, Danilo made his way down the armoury's sunken stairway and through into its vinyl floored, concrete walled entrance; deserted bar the range clerk behind his counter. With some luck at this time of day the firing line proper would also be quiet enough that the fratello could practice with minimal distraction. Positioning Raych on the long bench against its back wall, away from the hanging TV set, the handler turned toward the other man.

"Four hundred rounds of 9mm if you would, and targets."

"Practicing together?"

"Not for me, only for the cyborg."

Producing a clipboard with the appropriate form attached the clerk, a different one from the previous evening, handed it across his counter before craning to look past his client to the girl seated behind. "Haven't seen her before; she new?"

"Fresh out of the hospital today." _… surely staff should be briefed on who was who, particularly new fratelli._

"Right. Shouldn't be too difficult right now, but if you can; try and grab a lane with spares on either side of it."

"I'm sure she won't need that."

"Better safe than sorry… people tend to get pissed off if someone else holes their targets."

Accepting the completed form back, the clerk left to fill the request and Danilo watched him go. Actually, he did intend to find as isolated of a lane as possible, just not for the reasons being insinuated.

Eventually the SWA staffer returned with eight, fifty-round boxes of ammunition and slid them to the waiting handler, then bent down under the counter to produce two pairs of eye glasses and one set of ear protectors.

_No earmuffs for the cyborg then… he didn't remember seeing anything in the specs…_ The handler however shook his head. "We won't be needing those."

"Careful, the cyborgs are tough but the boffins haven't figured out how to armour the eyes yet."

"I know," the reply was slightly testy, "but we have our own."

That got a shrug. "Alright then, well best of luck."

"_Raych, _come on_."_

As hoped the range was empty save for a blond haired man and red-headed girl at one end, another fratello… Ricci from memory… the handler standing close over his charge as he explained one action or another to her. Both looked up curiously as the new pair entered, but Danilo headed for the range's far extremity, clearly telegraphing he did not wish to be disturbed and they went back to whatever it was they had been doing.

Gesturing to a lane right next to the wall, he turned to his own cyborg. "Set yourself up in the end bay."

"Yes sir."

The shooting positions were divided by transparent, bullet-proof plastic; albeit now starting to scratch and craze, allowing a handler to practice at the same time as his girl whilst keeping an eye on her. Following instructions, Raych put her pistol case down on the counter between one of those and dull, damaged concrete. Placing his own empty equipment bag on the seating bench against the back wall, Danilo took a box of ammunition and brought it to where his charge had the pistol and three magazines out of their case. Like him the girl had donned glasses, but her hearing protection remained stowed and the handler shifted it away… he had bought it on force of habit, guess that made the new set his now after all.

"Load up."

"Yes sir."

Carefully, as if needing to think her way through each action, she opened the box and started clumsily seating rounds into a magazine.

"No, not like that, like this."

"Sorry sir."

Taking the magazine off her, Danilo held it so she could see what he was doing and started quickly thumbing rounds in until it was full.

"Now try it again."

"Yes sir."

Picking up the second empty magazine, Raych started again, emulating what she had just been shown. The process was still slow, a parroted copy rather than true understanding, but at least now she wasn't fumbling the little metal shapes, and repetition would eventually solve the rest.

As she slid the last round into place, her handler stepped forward to hook a paper target to the rail on the roof and ran it out to the full twenty-five metre mark.

"C. Raych, load your pistol."

"Yes sir."

Picking a magazine the girl carefully inserted it into her gun and pushed it home with a click.

"Shooter ready?"

"Yes sir."

"Then fire away."

Cradling her M9 in both hands, the new cyborg arranged herself into a textbook shooting stance, took aim and…

_Bang!_

The paper stayed where it was, pristine, flawless… impact free.

_Maybe the medicos really did have trouble calibrating these things._

Standing, Danilo wound the target in to the seven meter mark.

"Try again."

_Bang!_

Well, there was nothing wrong with her stance. "Make sure your sights are aligned, triangle over what you want to put a bullet in… then take a breath, hold and squeeze the trigger. Try to feel for where it breaks."

"Yes sir."

_Bang!_

This time a small black hole opened up in the edge of the target paper, outside the vaguely human-shaped lines.

"And again."

_Bang!_

No change.

"Keep going."

Carefully and methodically, Raych fired off the rest of the magazine, then the second. As the gun's slide locked itself back for the third time, another box of ammunition was dropped on her bench.

"Reload and keep trying."

Another fifty rounds stumbled off toward their inevitable demise against the backstop, some passing through paper on their way and others merely disappearing in a little geyser of disturbed sand. As the girl paused to reload her magazines again, Ricci and his charge started to make their way back down the firing line. However, instead of exiting out the door halfway along its length, the pair continued to close on the Olivetti fratello, until Danilo caught the other handler's eye and shook his head. Halting, the man nodded his understanding; right now a lack of distractions would be best. Saying something to the red head beside him they made an easy about face and beat their retreat.

As the stack of fresh 9mm rounds slowly dwindled other range users came and went, but Danilo, sat arms crossed against the wall behind his charge, directed them away. Occasionally a cessation of fire would be ordered to alter a technique slightly or change targets, each quickly removed from sight and a fresh silhouette run out. However as successive sheets of paper were liberally peppered with widely spaced holes the handler felt his composure slipping more, and the brushing off became increasingly sharp and irritable. As the four hundredth shot's casing bounced off the floor with a tinny ring he told his girl to make her gun safe whilst he stood to go collect more rounds; which went the same way as their predecessors.

The worst bit was that she didn't seem to be improving any, though it was difficult to tell. Even if it were not his own good money seemingly being thrown after bad, the exercise was feeling increasingly fruitless.

Eventually the Steyr pistol's slide locked back for the final time. Pulling the last target in the man sighed at its scattergun pattern of holes; backed by the pop and bang of fire from further up the line.

_Oh for fuck sakes… surely the boffins could do a better job than this._

Gritting his teeth he looked at the dejected girl beside him. "Put your gun away and go wait by the car." He didn't trust himself to say anything else.

Raych could only nod before turning back to the bench as her instructor watched. It wasn't her fault, that he knew, but that knowledge did little to ease rising frustration. These girls were supposed to be the ultimate killing machines, and the second generation at that with all the bugs worked out to boot, but…

As she disappeared through the door outside, Danilo ran out a fresh target from the still sizable stack to twenty-five meters… then drew his own pistol and rapidly emptied the magazine into it, firing until the slide locked back. Scowling he brought the paper back in… going by the result he too needed time to get acclimatised to the Steyr, but the shots were a whole order of magnitude tighter than anything Raych had managed; this one actually looked like a moderately respectable grouping.

_At least now though he felt a little better._

Still tight faced, the ex-Guardia man collected a dustpan and broom and started to clean up his fratello's spent brass, trying to relax into the mindless work. Some resented this part of their time at the range; however after the kick and noise of a session there was a certain therapeutic calm to be found in the broom's swish and tinkle of metal.

_With a little luck, by the time he was done he would have simmered down enough to at least look at his charge again. _

Emptying a final dustpan load into a hopper, he replaced it on the wall and picked up the spent targets. Half a second of contemplation later he tore them up and deposited the scraps of paper in a bin. Today was probably best forgotten about, so write this one off and try again tomorrow: a fresh day and a fresh start.

The range was starting to fill up now and, keeping his eyes straight ahead Danilo headed back for the entrance, stopping briefly by the clerk's office to return the unused silhouettes.

"So, how'd she go?"

"She'll get there… I'll need another box of JHP as well."

"_That_ good huh?"

He could only grimace in reply.

"…and make sure those don't wind up in the cyborg's gun until..."

"I know the regulation," the words came out sharply, sharper than intended, "she's not to carry on campus."

The clerk held up his hands. "Just making sure, I'd hate to see her in trouble in her first week."

Outside the girl in question was standing, shivering slightly, beside her handler's car and Danilo took a deep, calming breath before climbing the stair toward her.

She flinched slightly as the Civic's locks clicked open. "Take a seat, we'll get something to eat and call it a day."

"Yes sir."

"But make sure you clean that gun up tonight: fresh start tomorrow, and it will be a busy day."


	3. CH03 Introductions

**MEANWHILE IN ITALY**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

* * *

_Other authors' OCs appearing or mentioned in this chapter, in no particular order: Kiskaloo|Kara & Michele, Professor Voodoo|Marisa & the bombsquad girls, MP5|Allison, theprodigalson|Anastasia, Chaoskin640|Melanie & Nina, ElfenMagix|Rachel. Special thanks to all of them._

* * *

**CH03 – Introductions**

_Make sure that gun is cleaned tonight, and be ready for me to pick you up at five thirty tomorrow morning._

_Yes sir._

Standing under a pool of yellow light, Raych ran the words through her head again to cement them there as her handler's car receded behind red tail-lamps.

Darkness had closed in completely over dinner, and now a chill night breeze brushed past, setting her shivering. Feeling it eddy over naked arms before passing through thick pillars at her back, she clasped the Steyr's hard plastic case to her chest, undershirt and loose top rapidly failing in their battle to hold encroaching cold at bay. Danilo had said there were more clothes in her room hadn't he? Maybe something warmer could be found there.

Turning away from the road, the newly minted cyborg fished in one pocket to extract a scrap of paper, unfolding it as she came to face a lit doorway, set into the base of an imposing three storey building. On the way here she had been able to see lights burning in most of its windows and, now out in the open, from above floated faint sounds of life.

Picking up the black duffle at her feet she hurried forward, past a glass protected pin board, scraping boots clean on a rough '_benvenuto_' doormat before stepping across the entrance threshold into blessed warmth. An umbrella stand greeted her inside, coat hooks above, some of them occupied, stairs to her left winding upward and a corridor ahead with a silhouetted figure approaching along its length.

Raych looked desperately at her note again: top level... and dodged away, keeping her head down and eyes directed at the floor as she ascended.

Thankfully the climb was completed without further encounters and, running out of stairs the girl turned down another corridor, this one floored in soft carpet. Shuffling along she counted off doors against Danilo's scrawled memo until, to her great relief, their number matched her instructions.

More muffled footsteps near her now and, head still lowered, she snatched at her door's handle to dart inside...

...only once she was safely hidden did it occur to her to knock.

Another icy chill ran up her spine: that would be just her luck, a bad start with her handler and then a bad start with her roommate. Slowly, as if pushing against some invisible force, she raised her eyes.

_Empty._

The relief was overwhelming, and it even appeared she had managed to find the correct room... probably. One side was well furnished, but the other looked bare and unlived in: white sheets and towels folded neatly beside a clean pillow, the bed wedged between a wardrobe at the door and desk by the window.

Dropping her bag, tentatively Raych reached for the wardrobe to investigate its contents...

"_Make sure that gun is cleaned tonight."_

...she stopped, arm still hanging half extended in space: handler's orders came first.

Moving instead to the desk she pulled back its accompanying nicked and scarred wooden chair to sit down, flicking on the small lamp which had seemingly been left for her use.

Undoing the case's clasps she raised its lid reverentially, staring at the black form beneath. Danilo had given that to her: her gun, her _purpose..._

Lifting aside the small cleaning kit which had been tucked into a spare gap, she brought the firearm once more into the open, fingers working seemingly of their own accord to release its slide, moving that forward off the frame, before unshipping the barrel. There was almost no thought required on her part at all, concentration to bring forth the following action yes, but not thought, and she next broke into the kit set aside earlier, emptying its contents onto hard surfacing.

Dinner had been a tense affair: Danilo unwilling to talk, alternating between staring at his plate or somehow straight through her without even registering her presence, and she... she had not known how to break the ice. Where did she start? What was she supposed to say in this situation? Was he angry at her? Had she disappointed him? Well of course she had disappointed him, first day out and she was a disappointment, but how did she make it up? And what did they do to cyborgs who failed anyway? Would she just be dropped? Did he even _want_ her anymore...

The pistol barrel she had been cleaning slipped from suddenly limp fingers and clattered to the table top, its noise jerking her from depressed musings.

Picking up the little cylinder of metal again, Raych set back to work, this time concentrating harder on the task at hand... how often would she need to do this anyway?

Another run with the brush, another swab, then a second...

Content the Steyr's barrel was finally spotless, the cyborg reached for a small dropper of gun oil and, as she did so, her eye fell on the booklet wedged in a slot moulded into its case's lid. Danilo had told her to get familiar, so the very least she could do was make sure she knew exactly what her firearm did, and maybe it could also offer some guidance as to how often she needed to maintain it...

She was still reading when the door behind rattled again.

"Oh!"

Her head snapped around at the voice, booklet falling from her grasp and she dove after it, sweeping the table with an arm in the process and scrabbling to retrieve suddenly evasive pages from the floor as loose gun components clattered down around her.

Face reddening, Raych fumbled those together also with ungainly fingers. "Sorry!"

Looking up from the carpet, she found the doorway occupied by an Asian featured girl, dressed in a skirt and striped, long sleeve shirt, both of which were covered by a navy blue coat. From one hand dangled a pistol case made from some type of plastic, its black weave shimmering beneath a glossy surface.

The new arrival unfroze first, a kindly smile appearing on her face. "Oh! You must be Raych! I'm Michele Pagani's cyborg, Kara Deleroux, your roommate. Let me help you there."

"No, I am fine." Scrambling to her feet, Raych dumped what she held back on the desk. "Umm, nice to meet you?"

Kara halted, already halfway across the floor. "It's nice to meet you too."

_Silence. _

Not knowing what to say next, Raych instead sat again, watching.

Stepping back toward the door the other girl placed her case awkwardly by the foot of her bed, before starting to remove low-topped, soft leather boots, their red soles flashing as she did so. Sliding open a tall, frosted glass wardrobe door to hang up the coat, she afforded her mute audience a glimpse of tightly packed clothes. There did seem to be a lot of those in there, in all colours, with racks of shoes lined up below them. Had... what did she call her handler? Michele? Bought all of those for her? He would have had to, wouldn't he?

Seemingly finished with the garments for the time, Kara then picked up her small case again, moving to sit on the unmade bed, before almost immediately leaping back up again.

"Oh! Sorry, that's your bed now: force of habit... I've not had a roommate before."

Raych reddened again, joining the mutual embarrassment. "It is ok, you can sit on it if you like... I have not made it yet."

"No, you hav... how long have you been here?"

"Umm, well I was activated this morning."

"I meant in the room."

"Oh, umm, I do not know: I have been cleaning my pistol."

"Well there's a clock on my desk if you ever need to use it."

"Thank you."

"Did your handler drop you here?"

"Yes."

"And how was your first day?"

"It was ok, I guess..."

More silence.

By now Kara had spread flimsy pages of newsprint across her own workspace, sitting down to open the case she previously carried before her. From it she extracted a Five-seveN pistol, its sleek black shape somewhat at odds with the brighter decoration on her side of the room. Checking the magazine was empty, she racked the slide a couple of times to ensure its chamber was also clear, then pointed it away to dry fire once.

"Why did you do that?"

Halting halfway through the process, she turned toward where her new roommate still looked on.

"Do what?"

"Clear your pistol like that."

The expression which answered was puzzled, its wearer cocking her head to one side. "Didn't you clear yours before pulling it apart?"

"No, Danilo took all the bullets away with him... did your handler not check yours for you?"

"Of course he did." The words came out sharply, sharper than intended, and Kara paused to soften her expression: the new girl was not to know what was and was not done yet, including how one did and did not speak of another's handler. "Yes, Michele did, Agency policy requires him to: _cyborgs are not permitted to carry loaded firearms on campus, except when deploying or in designated training areas_... but you should always check it yourself as well, I'm sure that's what Danilo would want you to do."

Raych's face lit up. "You know Danilo?"

"Uhh... I met him."

"How? What did you think of him?"

Kara's eyes darted away for a moment as her mind worked to evade the last part of that question: the last thing she wanted was to commit faux-pas also in her first hour of sharing a room. "He came up to drop your things off yesterday, we didn't talk much... he was just leaving as I arrived."

"Did you see what he left?"

Now she couldn't prevent a look of faint incredulity washing over her features. "You... _haven't_ looked at what your handler bought you?"

Raych seemed to shrink. "He said to clean and get to know my firearm... was that wrong?"

"No, no, not at all..." _if Michele had bought _me_ something I certainly would have managed at least a quick look_, "...do you want to take a look now?"

The other girl glanced at the jumble of gun parts on her desk. "I should probably..."

"Unless he's coming to pick you up in the next ten minutes, you can afford to spend some time getting comfortable: you have to _live_ here now as well remember!"

"Well, Danilo did say he would be here in the morning..."

"See? Plenty of time."

Putting her own FN aside, Kara stood and offered her hand to help hoist the other girl upright, leading her to stand in front of the room's second wardrobe: a hardwood hand-me-down from some previous occupant.

Both now bare footed, the Asian girl probably stood a few centimetres taller than her recently activated counterpart and, tagging along behind, Raych was given a moment to get a better look at her new friend, suddenly feeling very self conscious. Danilo had commented on her weight that morning, and now she knew why: devoid of trench coat to hide what lay beneath, Kara was much trimmer. If the doctors' overheard reply to her handler were true, then that was going to be the standard, not her own more solid frame.

With that thought she found herself positioned before the wardrobe's wooden doors and, taking a deep breath, swung them open before standing back to study the contents.

Inside were hung two more of the same top she currently wore, and three additional undershirts. Another pair of boots resided below them and more leggings, two sets of black cargo-trousers, underwear and thick, black boot socks were laid out neatly on shelves to one side. Another shelf held toiletries and a hair dryer. It wasn't much...

_But she would not be wanting for anything on her first day either._

Danilo had obviously gone to a lot of effort to make sure her arrival here went as smoothly as he could make it, and how had she repaid him? With failure, clumsiness... her eyes flicked to the disassembled Steyr on her desk... and incomplete duties. No wonder he had not wanted to talk to her at dinner, she had let him down, _horribly_.

Feeling her eyes dampen, she glanced around to where Kara was standing. Following the gaze past herself, the other girl quickly slid shut her own well stocked wardrobe against the more Spartan contents laid bare before her. "Don't worry, I've had ages to accumulate stuff and so will you: Michele is, what I think they call, 'independently wealthy' so... Danilo's bought well for you: for starters I don't know if an establishment budget would have covered those tops..."

"He did..."

"...You might want to give them a wash though. He would have bought them brand new, and even the really expensive stores sometimes lace their fabrics with preservatives."

_So he had probably even spent some of his own money..._

Seeing her roommate's shoulders droop even further, Kara stepped forward and closed the doors once more. "Tell you what, how about I give you the grand tour and we go meet some of the others?"

Raych looked again toward her half-finished task. "Umm, I think I really should..."

"No, take your mind off work and off this room for a bit. If it makes you feel better, think of getting to know the place and people as training, so you can be more efficient and better serve Danilo... and I'll help you make your bed when we get back. Deal?"

"But..."

"Don't be like that, or you'll wind up like Monty."

"Who is Monty?" There were too many new names being thrown around, and no way she could keep track of them all…

"Our not-so-resident spook." Now the other girl smiled and continued, as if reading her mind. "Don't worry, you're allowed to forget a few names in the first week or so."

Seemingly being given no choice, Raych let herself be herded from the room, its door closing with a final click. Now with friendly and enthusiastic backup to calm her unease, the new cyborg was able to take her first good look at where she was to live. The corridor she stood in was bookended by stairs on each end leading downwards, the wall farthest from where she had arrived also sporting a door cut into its face.

"Each floor has its own set of toilets and showers, and it's usually considered polite to use those on your own level." Kara's voice floated over her shoulder, the taller girl's form following in its wake. "Second gen girls like us live on the top two storeys, while the first gens have the ground floor… the laundry is also down there when you need it. Did you see the pin board on your way in?"

She nodded.

"Make sure to check it every day: Ferro leaves notices there for us."

"Ferro?"

"Oh, you haven't met Ferro yet? She runs the support teams and also manages the cyborg dorm."

"Is she nice?"

"Umm… more strict, I think."

"So the doormat was not hers then?"

Kara blinked. "The door… oh, the _benvenuto_ mat! No, that was Henrietta's. She's one of the first gens. We'll meet her later, I think she's in, but for now let's start up here and work our way down."

Towed along in her roommate's wake, Raych watched on whilst the other pointed at doors as she went. "That one's Fileccia and Gattonero, I think they're both deployed right now. This one however…" she stopped at another door from which emanated the sound of chatter and banged on it with a closed fist, "…I'm coming in!"

Without waiting for a reply she pushed it open, stepping aside to let her companion follow behind.

"Girls, this is Raych, she's just taken over the spare bed in my room."

Beyond the Asian girl lay a room of similar layout to their own, and on one bed a lithe looking red head rolled over from where she had been reading a magazine to flash the newcomer an easy smile.

"Hi, Raych."

The space's other half was plastered with pictures of cars, a few magazines sharing the same subject matter stacked on the desk, itself shadowed by a shelf of four wheeled toys. Its owner however was sat on the floor in a beanbag, now turning from where she had been watching a movie of some description on a small television set, dark hair held against the back of her head by a spring-loaded clasp.

Kara turned back to her follower. "Raych, these are Allison and Petra." She gestured to the girl on the bed. "Petra was the first one of us second gens. Allison is…"

"…driver extraordinaire, ace mechanic and all around good-girl," finished the beanbag occupant.

"And exceptionally modest."

"Absolutely!"

Now however the one called Petra had rolled up from her prone position, sitting cross legged on the bedcovers, studying their newest sister, and the object of that study felt herself reddening once more under the steady gaze.

Finally the elder girl broke the silence. "You were at the range today weren't you?"

"Umm… yes."

"I thought so: you were down the far end from where Sandro and I were training…"

"And by 'training' she means… umph!"

The hurled pillow caught Allison square in the face, causing her muffled splutter to be lost in its feathery depths.

"…How was it?"

_Sandro… that must be her handler._

Raych looked down at her feet, toying with what answer to give. The reality was she had been terrible, a disaster… an embarrassment. That would be the truth: but if she said that, then how would it reflect on Danilo? Would he be seen as incompetent for not having trained her properly? But, if she lied, and they found out…

"It was, umm, it was ok I guess?"

"Don't worry, none of us were very good for the first week or two." Raych's head snapped up to where Petra was again giving her that same easy smile and, despite herself, she found it being returned as the other girl went on. "New body see? Whatever motor skills you had in your previous life, however co-ordinated you were, you have to re-learn them and adjust to suit it, we all had to."

"So this is… normal?"

Now, having removed the pillow from her face, it was Allison's turn to shoot over a grin. "Absolutely, it takes some longer than others mind, but you'll get there in the end."

Happiness welled up inside the newly minted cyborg: so she wasn't a failure after all… but if that were the case, then why had Danilo seemed so cross? Was there something these smiling girls were not telling her? Were they all failures themselves? Or was it just that Danilo expected more of her, expected her to be more than these girls were?

_Well, if that were the case, she would have to try harder._

"Did you two want to stay for the rest of the movie?"

That was Allison chiming in again, and Kara looked down at her friend. "What is it?"

"_Ronin._"

For a moment the standing girl looked pained, biting her lower lip in indecision. Glancing at the shorter cyborg beside her though, she seemed to make up her mind. "Tempting, but I need to finish giving Raych the grand tour, and she apparently has a few things she needs to get done before tomorrow... plus I don't know if her handler has signed off on that movie or not."

"Your-loss-not-mine."

The remainder of the two upper floors passed in a whirlwind of faces and names: another red head, this one wearing a coppery orange mane in two pigtails, was introduced as Marisa, her roommate looking blankly on; whilst a blonde girl with hair hanging over one eye was introduced as Soni, "a sniper, like me", according to Kara. A tall, heavy-set cyborg was pointed out as Anastasia, but not introduced face-to-face… and then there were Melanie, Nina (again only viewed from a distance), Rachel, another girl like Marisa's roommate… at which point her memory gave out: the rest would need to be learned and remembered over some longer period of time.

Now she found herself led back to the ground floor, her guide making sure to point out the pin-board behind its glass shutters, but without going so far as to actually venture into cold night air.

The lowest level of the dorm sported older fittings, its lights containing glowing wire rather than fluorescent tubes, and walls clad in wood to waist height, breaking for timber doors along the building's length. Somehow it felt warmer, quieter: more homely.

"That one there is where Rico and Henrietta, the girl with the doormat, normally sleep," said Kara, motioning to one closed entrance. "However, if I'm correct, at this time of night they should both be…"

She knocked on a different door, its solid panels vibrating slightly under the impact.

"Come in!"

Following her friend as she pushed it open, Raych paused on the threshold as the room beyond came into view. This was quite different from those she had visited previously: gone were the two separate beds, the desks, and cheap fibreboard and plywood furniture. Instead those were replaced by a timber bunk bed, pushed up against one wall, the space opposite occupied by a low chest of drawers and, in a patch of floor the gen 02s did not have the luxury of: a round table with four chairs.

_This was a child's room, not a teenager's._

The thought slapped her in the face, being backed up moments later as she noticed the line of stuffed bears arranged atop the drawers.

"Another new arrival huh?"

Only then did she realise there were people in the room as well.

The one whom had spoken was perched on the top bunk, propped up on her elbows and looking down at the two below over thin-framed glasses. She, however, was shot a sharp glance by a second girl, now rising from the table on which was placed another bear, blonde hair swinging behind her in two long tails.

"It's a pleasure to meet you…"

"Raych," put in Kara helpfully.

"…Raych, and welcome to the cyborg dorm. I'm Triela, the sharp tongued one up there..." she shot another glance at the bespeckled girl, "...is Claes, and these are Henrietta and Rico."

As she said the last names she motioned to the two other girls present. Henrietta, wearing a neat, grey uniform-like outfit, was seated also at the table, cleaning a SIG pistol, while Rico lay on the lower bunk, legs idly kicking as she flicked through a magazine. At the mention of her name the prone girl looked up to beam a smile.

"Hi!"

Henrietta however bit her lower lip, seemingly thinking something over, before also fixing Raych with what was suddenly quite a disconcerting gaze. "Umm, I wish we had had some warning you were coming. Then we could have had tea to welcome you… umm… would you like to join us for tea in our room tomorrow night instead?"

Silence, again, and the elder cyborg's mind raced: this girl sounded pleasant, but if tomorrow went anything like today, then who knew what time she would be getting back… or how long she would need to clean down her gun and get ready for Danilo the next day.

"Umm, actually…"

Kara's foot came silently, but violently, down on hers.

"…actually, I would love to come to tea tomorrow night."

If she had seen the action, Henrietta did not show it and her face lit up. "Good! Come at seven o'clock… it is nice to meet you Raych."

Now Triela, whom _had_ seen the snippet of theatre being played out, offered a knowing smile. "If you need anything, or have questions, feel free to see me… but Kara can probably answer most of what you need to know."

"Umm… thank you."

"I'm sure Kara's told you already, but make sure to check the notice board outside, and keep your room tidy: Ferro occasionally runs spot inspections, or sends one of the handlers to do it."

"Umm… thank you."

"It was nice to meet you, Raych."

Backing out of the room so Kara could close up again behind them, Raych started to open her mouth, but the elder girl raised a finger to her lips in a shooshing motion, before tapping her ear and starting farther down the corridor, confused companion trailing in her wake.

It wasn't until they were some metres farther along that the other cyborg spoke in a low voice. "You were about to ask why I stepped on your foot, yes?"

"Umm, yes."

"Because you don't reject an invitation to tea from Henrietta, not the first time, not if you don't want her to blacklist you forever."

"_Oh_… but they were just kids."

"And so small things, like tea, are very important to them sometimes... one of them in particular," continued Kara. Then she smiled. "Don't worry, you'll get the hang of managing 'Etta eventually, just don't let her notice you doing it."

"You didn't seem to worry about Triela noticing."

"That's because Triela is senior cyborg."

Before she realised what was happening, a look of confusion planted itself on the younger girl's face. "I thought _you_ were senior cyborg."

That got a chuckle. "Not even close: they may look like children, but the four in that room probably have more combat experience than all of us gen twos combined. Triela is senior, followed by Petra or possibly Rachel for the gen two girls, depending on who you ask when... there's not really an official order."

"And you?"

"I'm more of a…" Kara waved her hands vaguely in front of herself, "…I'm more of a, call it a social co-ordinator?"

"And Allison?"

"Bad ideas girl."

"And… was it Monty?"

"Technically she would be next in line, at least in terms of build dates, after Petra for seniority I guess... but you won't see much of Monty: she's almost always abroad, and when she _is_ here she's always busy." Raych's mouth started to open again, but her companion kept talking before the obvious line of questioning could continue. "Come on, let's see who else is around, then we'll sort your bed out and get you ready for tomorrow. Sound good?"

"Yes, Kara... umm, could I also borrow your alarm clock?"

"Sure, what time do you need to be up."

"Umm, well Danilo said he would be past at five thirty, so what time do _you_ think I should get up?"

Internally Kara winced: having a roommate might not be entirely fun and games after all.

* * *

Leaning back in his chair, Danilo Olivetti ran one hand across his bald scalp. Finding the band of his headphones there he slipped it back, allowing the sleek Denons to fall around his neck for the minimal clicks and pops emanating from them to float out into the room.

_Well, it looked like this was going to be more time consuming than he had originally envisaged._

Allowing the seat to rock back upright on smooth springs, the man let his gaze flick to a small, saucer-like star ship which rested to one side of his computer monitor. Lit underneath by cold LEDs which reflected in the glass desktop, its long trailing nacelles drew his eye back to the glowing screen. At least he had managed to wrestle an electronic version of C. Raych's handover package from the medical types, so he was saved cluttering up this space with folders. The SWA had been insistent he retained hard copies however, but those were now hidden away, out of sight and out of mind. Instead, their virtually generated brethren burned in front of him, open at the general information section: that section which had been skipped over previously in favour of finding data more specific to his own assigned cyborg unit.

_It might have been nice for one of the medical types to inform him of some of that during the, what, whole month? He had worked with them prior to 's activation?_

Either way, after today's disaster he was not going to be putting a pistol in her hands again until she had some control over that body of hers, in fact he had half a mind to take it back off her. The Book however recommended against such an action, but at least the "no loaded firearms" blanket rule for cyborgs meant she would be unable to do anything _too_ dangerous with it overnight... assuming of course she had at least managed to get it to her room without breaking it. Possibly he should have escorted her there himself, but he didn't want to go confusing the issue further by possibly directing her to the wrong accommodation.

_Besides, it wasn't _him_ who had to live there._

A few flicks of the mouse wheel had his view scrolling up the document: amongst the text it had been suggested that a musical instrument would be helpful to a cyborg developing her motor skills, that or some other hobby requiring fine co-ordination. His eyes turned again to the star ship: there _had_ been those miniatures in the shop window yesterday…

No, that was likely to end in disaster, expensive disaster. Surely not every single girl here could have been supplied an instrument or hobby by her handler, there had to be _some_ other way to go about things. If he was going to develop her motor skills, he may as well do so in a manner relevant to her job, and not toward some useless vocation unlikely to further her capabilities.

A spreadsheet appeared under his rapidly darting cursor, and he inserted another few rows to give more space: best to roll her training back a step or two and take it from there. This was not what he had been promised from his fighting machine, but if needs must… and someone _would_ be hearing about it.

Reaching forward once more, Danilo closed the internet browser window which had been open behind his current work. At least he would be able to delay the hunt for accommodation off-campus and save some money in the process: there were plenty of other things to spend it on.

* * *

Listening to the door close behind Rico and Henrietta as the two younger girls returned to their own room, Triela finished neatening the bear's bow currently subject to her labours.

Pulling a grim face, she glanced up at where Claes remained reading on her perch. "So, what did you think?"

The latter did not look up and, taking the opportunity whilst her bespeckled comrade finished whatever paragraph she was on, the senior girl moved to replace the bear in position, leaning back against the lowboy as her roommate finally turned her attention away from the page.

"What did I think of what?"

"Of the new girl, Raych."

Claes seemed to give this some consideration. "She did not seem particularly unusual for a newbie, a bit timid, but not unusual."

"_Hmm…"_

"Why?"

Now Triela paused, putting her thoughts in order. "I think… I think I may have met her handler yesterday."

The other girl's expression was impassive. "And you forwent mentioning this to her because?"

Now the blonde haired girl looked directly at her friend. "Because I didn't want to get asked the obvious question, because I'm not sure I could have truthfully given an acceptable answer to her face."

"Coward."

Seeming not to notice that jab, the senior cyborg again turned her gaze downward. "I fear Raych may not be in for the easiest time."


	4. CH04 I, Cyborg

**MEANWHILE IN ITALY**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

* * *

_Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara._

* * *

**CH04 – I, Cyborg**

Cold.

Again.

In the autumnal pre-dawn, Raych tried and failed to still chattering teeth, arms squeezed tight around herself as if attempting to restrain the heat's incorporeal presence. She had been here early, early enough to guarantee arriving before her handler, and it was a decision she was starting to regret as her clothing provided just as little warmth now as it had the night previous.

At least she had slept well, the other girls' reassurances and her own resolve to do better stilling earlier fears.

Now a new sound wafted to her ears: the distant sound of an approaching engine and crunch of tyres.

Unwrapping goose pimpled limbs, she knelt down to retrieve her pistol case from frigid flagstones, before standing straight and willing her body to be still so as not to show weakness when her handler arrived. She had already given him enough to be ashamed of, and was determined not to do so again.

Frustratingly, artificial flesh refused to obey, continuing to shake uncontrollably as Danilo's hatchback drew level, and despite the chill she felt her face heat in embarrassment.

There was a snap and electric whine as one of the car's windows lowered, its owner leaning over so as to speak to her from his seat. "Leave the gun in your room, you won't be need it today, and change into your exercise clothes."

"My... exercise clothes?"

From inside the car came the sound of someone stifling a sigh. "The shirt and combat pants I bought you."

"Yes sir."

"Be quick."

With that the window sealed itself once more and, as it slotted home, what had seemed a solid and comforting resolve in the presence of friends and under warm covers came crashing down.

Trying to hide her dejection, Raych turned toward the stairs. So that was it then: Danilo had given her a gun, given her a purpose and, no matter what she was told by Kara, Allison, Petra or anyone else, she had failed him in that purpose, failed him badly enough that he was now barring her from it… and if her failings were normal, then obviously "normal" would not do for _her_ handler.

Head swirling as those same thoughts recirculated, rebounding and backing up against one another, one foot clumsily followed the other until they brought her to the dorm top floor. There, her attention was momentarily diverted as she again counted doors under dim auxiliary lamps, the distraction giving some small respite from depressive musings.

No illumination pierced the dullness from cracks around the entrance to her room and, slipping inside, she flicked the lights on, eliciting a muffled grumble from the blanket shrouded form of her roommate. Evidently Kara had returned to bed after her departure.

Trying to tread as quietly as possible on soft carpet and quashing a sniffle, Raych turned to her wardrobe, opening the doors wide. The Steyr's case was placed carefully below the gap before she stood to remove her top, fitting it roughly on its wire hanger to leave only a black undershirt. It was not much in the way of protection and, shivering again in the cold room, she fumbled with finicky boots to remove them and change into black cargo pants.

Those were roomier than her leggings, harsh and less comforting as they rubbed against fresh skin beneath. It was a sensation she should probably get used to, would have to get used to, rather than the soft touch of expensive clothes she did not deserve.

Pushing that unfamiliar sensation aside, the cyborg retrieved fallen footwear from where it had landed, before her eye turned again toward the pistol case. Stooping down, she lifted it in both hands, feeling its rough, textured surface against her fingertips, one thumb tracing the join between upper and lower halves. As she watched, a tear splashed across the moulded wording of its lid. This was a reward she could no-longer call hers either, one she no-longer had the right to possess. Perhaps she should return it, let it be entrusted to one more worthy…

…but Danilo had told her to leave it in her room.

Shoving the case as far back on a bottom shelf as it would go, Raych blocked it from sight with the black nylon bag her clothes had first been presented in, before closing the wardrobe doors: best to forget it ever existed.

Now moist eyes turned again to the boots, another task seemingly barred to her, and she bit a lip: her roommate was asleep again…

After five minutes of hopeless fumbling however, she gave in.

"Umm, Kara?"

What may have been a mumbled reply shuffled out from below the other's duvet.

"Could you do my boots for me again?"

* * *

Seated in his car, Danilo's fingers tapped impatiently on the wheel as he waited.

_What was taking so long?_

Peeling back a sleeve of his suit he glanced at the Seiko watch concealed there, seconds hand sweeping around in a pleasingly smooth arc to slowly drag slower brethren behind it and away from his five-thirty target start. C. Raych had been gone ten minutes already: surely she could get changed faster... especially with another, experienced, cyborg to assist.

_Look on the bright side, at least the car's heater was being given a chance to take effect._

The cyborg had been shivering as well when he arrived. Come to think of it, he had not purchased her any winter clothes. That should probably be rectified seeing as, even with a mechanical, carefully engineered body, she still apparently felt the cold… another design failing. First though, it might be worth his while checking the manual to see if it was possible to block that particular sense, rather than load her with additional bulk.

Finally the trainee in question reappeared, quick steps bringing her back his direction. Gone were her poncho top, gun and leggings, replaced by a simple short-sleeved shirt and black cargo pants which, he noted, had been neatly bloused over boot tops beneath.

Leaning between the seats he pushed open a rear passenger door.

"What took so long?"

Landing on the fabric-clad bench behind, the cyborg sealed the car again, drawing a seatbelt across herself, managing only to insert the tongue in its clasp on her second attempt.

"I, umm, I had trouble with my boots, sir... sorry."

"You will need to be faster than that C. Raych." Selecting drive, Danilo pulled away from the dorm. "Didn't Kara help you?"

"She was asleep... I did not want to wake her."

Her handler stifled another sigh. "Well next time, wake her. She's there to help you, that's part of her function as your roommate and senior."

"Yes sir."

Glancing in the rear-view mirror he found his charge's form, picked out by the dimly glowing instrument panel as they moved away from brighter light sources, fingers knotting and unknotting before her. Reaching into the passenger foot well he extracted a plastic grocery bag, holding it back over his shoulder.

"Here. We won't be making the mess for breakfast, so eat up. You will need the energy."

He felt the weight lifted from his hand, followed by the rustle of plastic and paper.

"Thank you!"

That was one thing he had gleaned from his time in the medical wing: the cyborgs chewed energy, much more than a regular human, which was probably only to be expected and, as a consequence, they needed to eat much more than a regular human. From reading the manual he had also learned that the penalty for not doing so could be, it was suspected, dire.

This was all useful to know, however he had already suffered one setback in working up, one too many, and to mitigate that would leave precious little time for such niceties as sit-down breakfasts. Instead he had raided the night-kitchen's spread of snacks for pastries, fruit and muesli bars to keep his charge fuelled. Today he would need to see Ferro or the mess staff about having something more substantial prepared each night, something carbohydrate heavy which would keep until the morning.

Chasing behind warm headlights through the darkened compound, Danilo stopped briefly at a t-junction, cyborg munching away in her own world at his back. Despite there being no other vehicles in sight he checked both directions, using the moment to remember where he was supposed to be going, and pulled away again toward a tree-lined road.

"You will be working on the obstacle course today; I've booked it out so you shouldn't be disturbed."

The sounds of chewing stopped. "The others will not need it?"

"No, they have class or are deployed."

Technically, Victor Hilshire was yet to reply to his email informing the German that C. Raych would not be attending lessons that day, or at all, until she passed her _Verifica della Competenza Operativa_. No cyborg had been allowed beyond the campus walls without passing the third-party assessed evaluation, and that was the stage he needed to get her to as quickly as humanly, or even inhumanly, possible.

_And the first step in that was getting her used to her body._

Ahead, picked out by the Civic's lamps, the Social Welfare Agency's outdoor obstacle course loomed into view from the night. There were no illuminating lights here, the facility having been constructed far from major buildings, in a clearing, amongst dense conifers to hide it from prying eyes. Formed in an elongated loop, it was encircled by a goat-track of bare earth, worn and compacted by the feet of countless instructors, and the handler gestured to this.

"Out of the car, and run ten laps to warm up."

"Yes sir."

There was another rustle from behind him, then the truncated zip of a seatbelt retracting and click of a latch, before cold air invaded the car's heated refuge once more. Quickly that was closed again, and Danilo watched as his charge jogged away, heading toward the course's darkened extremity with an ungainly gait.

_There was a lot of work to do there._

Retrieving a heavy, black, trench coat from the passenger seat, the handler braced himself and made his own exit into a chill autumn morning.

Leaving the car's lights on and engine running, he positioned himself to half sit, half lean, against its bonnet, feeling scavenged heat warm cold buttocks whilst he surveyed that which lay before him. From here, the obstacle course looked much like any of the others which had been encountered through his career: all solid timber poles, rope, wire and bolts. Only on closer inspection did one begin to notice that some of the jumps were just a little higher or a little longer than would be generally expected, the handholds just a little farther apart, the wire a little lower and the foundations a little stouter.

Raych jogged past, breath crystallising in the air before her, and she slowed to glance his direction.

"Keep going!"

"Yes sir!"

Of course, not everything here required brute strength. There was no point in trying to make cyborgs stronger via physical means: that maximum came pre-set by engineers and doctors on day one. Some obstacles were obviously put there to wear the girls down, but others would require them to meter their power, learn to control it and their bodies, and balance those forces bestowed upon them by their creators. It was a course planned to teach finesse, rather than encourage massive explosions of exertion.

Another lap, and his eyes followed his own charge as she continued on, past a line of old car tyres laid on the ground, a couple of hurdles and the barbed-wire covered mud crawl, spines hanging so low as to leave anyone under it struggling to breathe. That brought a thin smile to his face: for all the cyborg-tuned design, it was nice to see that some of the sadistic classics, intended to trip a trainee up, keep their head down and knock out squeamishness, remained.

Double checking a note on his phone whilst he waited, Danilo then slipped the device away, instead pulling on black, insulated gloves as C. Raych jogged up, and he let her stand a moment. She had obviously been exerting herself, but could hardly have been called winded.

_Time to change that._

"Come."

Not waiting to see if his cyborg followed or not, the handler moved briskly to the course start, marked by an old concrete railway sleeper dug into hard earth, ground around it bare from the shuffling of many nervous feet.

"You had a good chance to look at the course on your warm up, now follow me."

Starting along the perimeter path, Danilo began to talk his trailing charge through each obstacle: what it was and what she was expected to achieve with it.

Once the decision had been made to step his training plans back a few notches, finding the course design notes in the SWA's mess of a filing system had been his next task. It had not been an easy one, nor had been reading those notes from his mobile's small screen as he traipsed this same goat-track in the small hours just after midnight. Now, however, the memorised instructions flowed freely: past the rope swings, two storey wall climb and window dive, over the cargo net, widely spaced monkey bars and onward through the twenty or thirty remaining obstacles, each with its own specific task. Some were classics, others mimicked an urban environment or were there just to be plain difficult. All, however, would prove a challenge.

Arriving again at the beginning he looked down at the cyborg standing just behind him. "Did you understand all that C. Raych?"

"Umm, yes sir."

"Are you certain, C. Raych? If not we will walk it again."

There was a slight pause as her eyes darted away briefly. "Yes sir, I understand."

"Good. For your information, the course record his held by another generation two cyborg, Monique, by eleven seconds."

"Yes sir."

"She also set that during her workup period, the same stage you are now, and no-cyborg has come close since. The next fastest is Triela: hers is the time to beat."

"Yes sir."

Removing one glove, Danilo retrieved his phone to set its stopwatch.

"Then go."

At her handler's word the aspiring agent tore off toward tall hurdles and, in her wake, her caretaker shook his head: the way things had gone yesterday, he would be ecstatic if she could just beat the _slowest_ current time.

From farther away came the thump of a body meeting stout wood planking at high speed.

Surely _someone_ could have figured out a better way of getting each unit keyed in than this, something quicker and less likely to cause lasting damage.

C. Raych's run continued, progress marked by additional thuds or squawks of surprise, until she returned, panting and muddy, to her handler.

Stopping the digital stopwatch he glanced back to her. "Not good C. Raych, you're minutes behind even the _worst_ personal best recorded. Go again, we will finish when you can claw your way off the bottom rung."

Still breathing heavily, the cyborg nodded. "Yes sir. Umm..."

Danilo didn't look at her as he reset the phone's timer. "Yes?"

"Who is it I have to beat?"

"Soni is currently is the slowest. Now get moving."

"Yes sir."

By now morning was beginning to break and, as dawn crept golden fingers over rolling Italian countryside, the cyborg too began to slash seconds from her time with each successive circuit. Starting his count again, the waiting handler allowed himself a glimmer of hope: this was good, there were less sounds of surprise or impact wafting to him now. Maybe it would not take so long to get operational after all.

Letting his charge run, the man turned back to kill the still idling Civic's engine: it was bright enough now that the little illumination given by its headlights would no longer be required. Leaning in through the driver's door, he noted the bag of breakfast still lay half-eaten on the rear bench. To be honest he was starting to feel hungry again himself but...

On the next lap he flagged down his runner, holding out what remained of her meal. "Take a break and finish eating."

Looking grateful she complied, peering around for seating before flopping down onto the embedded sleeper.

"Your times are coming down C. Raych, that's good."

About to take a bite from a pastry, his cyborg beamed. "Thank you sir!" Then uncertainty crossed her face. "umm... I think the clothes you bought me may have become dirty... I am sorry."

Danilo took a moment to run an eye over her: covered head to toe in mud from the crawl, with dust, sticks and loose blades of grass welded to its underlying strata from multiple falls. Thank God he had brought a towel to put beneath her for transport, and in this car it at least wouldn't matter much anyway. Once he acquired a new vehicle though it might be worthwhile investing in some sort of hardwearing seat cover, or at minimum a plastic drop sheet.

_Hopefully they would be finished training by then._

"They're exercise clothes, getting dirty is what they're _for._"

That earned him another beamed smile as she attacked the rest of her meal with gusto.

* * *

Like too many good things though the happiness was fleeting. As the day wore on, Raych's times plateaued, the initial drop seemingly resultant of merely learning the course, or increased visibility under daylight... or a combination of both. Between her second breakfast and dinner she barely managed to claw another five seconds, still a long way from even the next slowest time, and it was a much less enthusiastic Danilo whom found himself writing his first training report from the handlers' offices that evening.

Finishing the last paragraph, the man stretched back in his chair to rest his eyes a moment and look around the room. He didn't like working down here, it felt old, worn, second hand. From the ancient, reused desks and tall windows, to the suspended steel framework above, hung beneath high ceilings with neatly sheathed network and power cables snaking to it, the whole space reeked to him of someone trying to shoehorn in an organisation which did not fit: an advanced undertaking in ancient surroundings.

_Square peg, round hole: wallowing in the past when they should be looking to the future._

At this time of night only a few desks were occupied, warm fluorescent tubes suspended from their metal supports illuminating mostly empty space. Only two other bodies kept him company: Victor Hilshire he recognised, the ex-detective seemingly having leveraged his earlier arrival on scene to acquire a much sought after desk by the courtyard windows and, toward the back of the room, another whom was unfamiliar.

He looked back at the screen: to be honest he was not getting anywhere, and the few hours sleep he had managed were not helping the issue... that would do for the night. The remainder he could finish up over the weekend, hopefully with something better to add. Saving the document he locked the workstation, what he could really use was a wind-down drink.

Standing, Danilo stretched again, this time with a little extra theatre to let his action be known to the world at large, before ambling toward Hilshire.

"It's the end of the week, do you want to go for a beer?"

Glancing up from the homework papers for marking piled neatly on his desk, the German studied his new companion. Frankly he really did not, and not with this man, but...

His eyes darted across the room momentarily before speaking, voice pitched just loud enough to carry. "Ok, I will join you for a drink. Michele? Do you want to join us too?"

The other man peered at his own monitor also, pausing to rub at an eye before answering. "I think a break would not do me badly at all, but it can't be for too long: I still need to finish up here... though if you're willing to fit in with that I can give you a lift there and back."

_Perfect._

"I am sure we can manage something." Now Hilshire's attention returned to the handler beside his desk. "Did you have somewhere in mind?"

For the first time since he had seen him, a flash of unease passed over Olivetti's face. "I'm easy, where do you suggest?"

_Schwachsinnige._

* * *

_So this was Michele Pagani, Kara's handler: no wonder that cyborg's side of the room was so cluttered._

As the SWA's most recent addition to its ranks, Danilo found himself relegated for half an hour to the rear seat of a bright red Ferrari FF, suddenly feeling quite glad to have been saved the embarrassment of offering transport in his own non-super car. Unfolding now from that position, he took another moment to study again the man in question.

Michele he had found to be amicable and immaculately turned out, in what was revealed as a suit made to measure by Armani, the money which allowed him such extravagances also seemingly used to dote on his cyborg. While the latter Danilo couldn't help but feel inefficient and unnecessary, the Agency _did_ give handlers reasonably free reign regards their girls'. Keeping in that spirit, he supposed he couldn't argue against the man operating as he wanted, so long as it did not spill over onto C. Raych from her roommate.

_Which did not mean he had to approve either._

Finally extricating himself via the Ferrari's passenger door, Danilo waited for the vehicle's owner to push the front seat back into position and lock up, before following his companions across ancient cobbles toward the glowing lights of a local trattoria. Some hardy souls still remained in its awning-covered street seating, clustered around gas heaters, but the three handlers made a beeline for warmer surrounds.

Before entering however, Michele stopped the group and turned to their most recent addition. "One word of warning: this is a _cyborg-free_ trattoria. The girls do not know about it, and for the sake of everyone's sanity we would ask it remain that way."

The statement was answered with a nod.

Inside was warm, lively and crowded with a heaving mass of humanity, from the town's children to its elderly and infirm, but the small SWA group managed to find a quiet table toward the establishment's rear, closely tailed by one of the wait staff. Sending the man away with orders, an awkward silence descended over the table until his return with drinks: a red wine, a beer and Campari and soda.

Taking a sip of Campari, Michele finally broke the ice. "So, how is... Raych?... settling in?"

Now it was Danilo's turn to sigh. "It's C. Raych, yes... and 'slowly'. You would think that, this far into the second generation, the medical department would be able to hand me over a more complete and competent unit."

"Well, I guess each girl _is_ still something of a test bed."

"I thought the first generation was supposed to have been used to iron the worst problems out... Either way, it has made my life much more difficult regards C. Raych's training."

"I did see your email about pulling her from classes. Are you sure that is wise?"

The new handler turned his attention to his German counterpart. "An education is nice to have, but she was built to do a job, and she needs to be able to do that job before starting to spend time on luxuries. Besides, it is not like she will live long enough to _use_ an education."

"An education is still important whether its precise learnings are used or not: it teaches one how to think, how to relate to others, and equips a knowledge base she can use to interact with outsiders on missions. Girls of Raych's age are expected to have a certain level of understanding of the world, and ensuring she has that understanding is just as important as any firearm."

"Not for the job she is doing. I was told the Agency wanted a combat fratello, pure and simple, and that is what I intend to give them. Should they want someone to interact deeply with the public, or go undercover to talk history and art, they need to find someone else."

"And teaching her how to think for herself?"

"She doesn't need to think for herself, she needs to follow orders," he took another swig of beer, "and she needs to be able to carry those orders out, and for that she needs to pass out on her _VdCO_, as a minimum, as quickly as possible."

Hilshire started to open his mouth, but Michele cut across him. "I remember trying to get Kara ready for her _Verifica_, I was probably almost as nervous as she was, though for slightly different reasons."

"Being?"

"If the cyborg fails her _Verifica_, she cannot re-examine for another fortnight. Prior to that, judgement on when she is ready for it, how long she works up for that first assessment etcetera, is made by her handler, and he is given reasonably free reign." Now the man's voice took on a more serious tone. "If she _does_ fail however, the SWA will start taking a more active role, and it is also viewed as a first sign that the new hire may be underperforming."

"Not a pleasant position to be in," added Hilshire, apparently deciding to bury the previous dispute in the interests of civility.

Danilo gave the man a questioning look. "Speaking from experience?"

The German shook his head. "No, the _VdCO_ was only implemented for the second generation girls: the first never needed to do one. Back then, when a cyborg was ready to be deployed was decided by her handler or by circumstance."

"That seems like leaving a lot of chances for problems and inconsistencies..."

"It did, but the girls are very distinct from each other then as well."

"...At least the standardised system for the gen twos gives a baseline to measure against, and weed out abnormalities before they become permanent."

Now Michele looked thoughtful. "Most, but not all second gens: at least one missed it... from what I understand, Monty never did a _Verifica_."

"Monty?"

Now the other handler leaned in and, consciously or otherwise, his voice lowered. "Monty Blacker, Jethro Blacker's girl."

"Monique... the obstacle course record holder?"

"Yes, our spyborg."

Now it was Hilshire's turn to lower his speech, eyes also glancing around the room, the occupants of which were fortunately pre-occupied, chatter filling the space. "They trialled the _VdCO_ on Petra, it was meant to bring some standardisation and show the Agency was under control at a time when questions were being asked..."

"When they were looking for funding."

"...Michele is correct though: the Blackers never undertook the assessment. The official line was that it was mostly redundant in their role, unofficially though the SWA needed them deployed as soon as possible, so it was another case of circumstance dictating timeframe." Now the man leaned back again. "Every girl since then has required passing out though."

"Which is why I need C. Raych up to speed as quickly as possible, and not wasting time in a classroom." Danilo took another sip of his beer. "Whether there was any truth in the 'official' line or not, I took a look at what the _VdCO_ entails, and it is _all_ relevant to her intended role. Somehow I don't think she will be able to so easily slip through the net."

Silence descended again.

Finally, Michele looked across the table to his fellow Italian, expression questioning. "Indulge me a query: what does the 'C' stand for?"

"In C. Raych?"

"Yes."

"It stands for 'cyborg'... Have you ever ready any of Asimov's work, Michele?"

The other handler shook his head. "Only some of his _Foundation_ series."

Danilo nodded, at least the man wasn't completely ignorant. "In his writings, Isaac Asimov's robots had their names prefixed with an "R-dot", to designate them as such and help differentiate them from humans. The 'C' serves a similar purpose."

Another pause.

"That seems somewhat... alienating..."

Michele said it slowly, metering out his words carefully lest he cause offence. Hilshire meanwhile had gone rigid, face annulled of expression, but the third handler simply shrugged. "Well, yes. They are not, after all, exactly _human_."

"But they are not robots either." The German's tone was hard. "Each girl still has a human brain: she feels like a human does and behaves as a human would..."

"Except for where she is programmed not to."

"...as far as her _conditioning_ will allow. They are, for all intents and purposes, human."

Danilo gave his head a little shake. "No, they are not. They can run faster, leap higher, move quicker, see and hear things that a human cannot. They are barred free will and a full range of emotion: that is not humanity, and they should not be degraded by everyone trying to make-believe that it is."

"And they should also not be subordinated as some form of lesser being."

Michele nodded. "I agree with Victor: I've seen Kara laugh and cry, I've seen her jubilant and terrified..."

"Triela is the same: she's just an ordinary girl. She can shoot, she can lift half a tonne or throw a grown man around like a rag doll, but underneath it all she is an ordinary girl."

"And yet those are not things an ordinary human can do, surely you will agree that much... and I am not calling them 'robots', but I think the distinction between cyborg and human should, in fairness, be made." The bald headed handler took another sip at his beer before looking again at his two companions. "Perhaps this would be easier if you had read more of Asimov's works. For the greater part, his robots are not written as inhumane: they can portray some emotion and feeling and they are able to serve mankind with dignity, but they are not inferior, at least by Asimov's words, and by making the distinction also,_ I_ am not suggesting that the cyborgs are inferior. However, the fact remains that they were created to serve, to fight, to follow orders and do the bidding of their masters, and they should be afforded the grace of being allowed to do so with the dignity _they_ deserve: not be relegated to the level of a human slave, bound to do _his_ master's bidding by inferiority and threat alone."

"And so for the few years they have left we should rob the girls of their last shreds of humanity? We should tell them that they fit in nowhere? That seems a little cruel." Hilshire's tone remained hard to its core, but the sharp edges had gone. "They still identify themselves as human."

"Then they should be taught differently. There is no use having them attempt to be something they are not, and they do fit in somewhere: they fit in with those who created them and with whom they were created... that's more than many can claim. There is no point to pining away in hope over a life which they cannot expect to lead, particularly when there's one right here ready for them."

Another halt in conversation, the room's buzz sliding in to fill the gap. Finally...

"Everyone needs to be able to put hope in something." Michele's voice was quiet.

"Then it should be aimed at something attainable that they can put their efforts behind and try to make a reality, not in fairy stories and false dreams. They should remember what they are, accept it, make the most of it and be proud of it. It should be allowed to shape their view of the world around them and shape their lives. There is nothing wrong with, or to be ashamed of, in the roles they have been built for."

On the other side of the table, Hilshire drew a deep breath, letting it out again slowly before looking once more across the space. "I see your argument Danilo, and I cannot say I agree with it, and I am afraid it may be one viewpoint we will continue to disagree on. I also fear you may have trouble finding many others at the Agency, at least those having had dealings with our girls, who will be able to understand your perspective."

The discussion's other contender seemed ready to say something more, but again Michele interrupted. "Do you follow the F1 at all Danilo?"

There was a pause while the table's two other occupants changed mental tack.

"A little. Why?"

"What do you think of this year's rule changes?"

"Well..."

Internally, Victor Hilshire gave a groan: obviously this was not going to be his night.

* * *

Darkness, and warm comfort. Those were what Raych felt: a far cry from the freezing cold and exhaustion searing her memories of the day. It had been a long and painful day at times too and, having been dropped back at the cyborg dorm, she had just barely managed to get herself through the showers and wash the mud off before collapsing into bed. Somewhere her soiled clothes and towel, used to protect Danilo's rear seat, had been dumped. She couldn't remember where. She would need to find them later, and clean them... but for now.

Someone was calling her name.

Swimming up through the depths of semi-consciousness, she followed the voice. Honestly she just wished it would go away and leave her to wallow in the soft mattress and blankets' fluffy embrace.

"Raych? Raych?"

Eyes snapped open to find Kara knelt down by the side of her bed, one arm gently shaking her shoulder.

"Mmm?"

"It's ten at night. Weren't you meant to be somewhere? Like, hours ago?"

_Was she?_

_Oh no._

The girl's whole body jerked, trying to sit up, but she was held in place by the gentle but firm grasp of her roommate. "Too late now..."

Raych's mouth worked, words failing to form.

"Don't worry about it, I've already seen Henrietta, but you may owe her an apology..."

_This had not been her best day ever._


	5. CH05 Foundation

**MEANWHILE IN ITALY**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

* * *

_Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara, and Professor Voodoo for Marisa, as well as MP5 for the loan of Allison._

* * *

**CH05 - Foundation**

Danilo was halfway out of bed before his conscious brain caught up with the physical action. Swaying to a halt on the king-single bunk's edge, the handler reached out to silence his phone's grating 5am alarm, rubbing at bleary eyes to remove the last dregs of sleep.

His room was chilly, thermostat set for comfort under blankets and, moving quickly, he pulled on a robe over his long night shirt, before crossing to open the small stainless steel fridge, wedged in a corner between his desk and sleek white wardrobe. C. Raych's breakfast was already bagged in the bottom, looking somewhat neater than the previous morning. From the shelf above however he extracted his own meal, which was scoffed down quickly... if he was going to keep doing this though he would need to invest in an espresso machine... then teeth, shave (chin and scalp) and a fresh black suit.

Tie knot seated securely in place, the man glanced at a compact safe nestled in one shelf for a moment, before running his thumb print to collect pistol and holster. A pair of boots were also retrieved from the floor, and five minutes later he was striding quickly across the asphalt front staff car park, cyborg's breakfast in one hand and heavy coat again draped over the other arm.

At this time of the morning, only a smattering of vehicles populated the space, not surprising for a Saturday, not everyone was trying to bring an unco-operative ward up to speed. For that matter there were plenty of places, given the option, _he_ would rather spend his weekend as well.

Wherever the others were, the little hatchback cut a lonely form in the courtyard's cold expanse, and with the engine running its owner quickly turned the heater on full bore, before dumping his coat on the passenger seat and C. Raych's meal in the back for her. Edging out of the entrance archway, Danilo again chased warm headlights through pre-dawn darkness, until those beams picked out the cyborg in question's shivering form, standing once more outside her dorm.

Rolling to a halt, he reached back to push the rear door wide. "If you're that cold, you should wait inside until I arrive."

"Y-yes sir." Dropping into the back seat, his charge closed the opening behind herself, before saying brightly, "I tied my own boots today!"

"Well done, your breakfast is on the floor."

In the rear-view mirror he watched as, beaming at the disinterested praise, his trainee operative dug into cold food. The kitchen had done a good job on such short notice; he would have to email Ferro or Lorenzo commending them.

More promisingly, if C. Raych was not lying and had indeed managed to tie her own boots, it might be a positive sign things were on the upswing, that she was actually starting to regain some co-ordination. Hopefully she _would_ improve so he could get back to working her on something more useful, and do so quickly.

Glancing again in the mirror, Danilo started to speak as they rolled away. "You will be on the obstacle course, C. Raych."

"Yes sir."

"If you managed to tie your boots, I expect to see some improvement in your times there as well."

"Yes sir."

The remainder of the short trip passed in silence, until again the equipment's clearing appeared in bright, high beam headlights. With the sun yet to breach its horizon, those were the only source of illumination, heavy clouds blotting out any trace of moon or stars overhead and, once more leaving the car running, Danilo ordered his charge into her warm up laps.

This time however, he too headed for the loop.

Arriving at the buried start-marker, the handler extracted a small torch from one pocket, turning it on with gloved fingers before beginning to slowly follow in the trainee soldier's wake. The hurdles shouldn't be an issue, but reaching the high rope swing he gave one of its dangling lengths a good solid tug, pointing the LED's white beam toward its fixing above as he did so.

_No movement, good._

C. Raych pounded past, and he paused to fix her also in the torch light. Her gait seemed less awkward than it had the previous day, more controlled, limbs following closer to the prescribed paths nature and doctors had intended, rather than flailing about in a mess. Flicking the beam away, he checked the second rope, before moving toward the next obstacle. So he had been correct: whoever decided these girls needed a hobby to aid co-ordination had been wrong, they didn't, making it more likely a cover for misplaced sentiment than operational necessity. Should the cyborg be required to hone fine motor skills, then there would be plenty of opportunity for her to do so day-to-day, without the need for redundant pursuits.

The remainder of the course also passed inspection, and Danilo found himself back at its start just as his charge came to a puffing halt.

"Have a drink and you can get going."

"Yes sir."

Taking the spare moment to check his series of notes, the handler grimaced: positive signs aside, C. Raych was still a good minute off Soni's time, it was a lot of ground to make up. He wanted her back on the range by the end of next week but, since yesterday, that was appearing less and less likely.

"I am ready, sir."

Turning back to face his cyborg, he switched the phone over to its stopwatch function.

"Then go."

The result was not what he had hoped for. As on the previous day, sounds of disaster wafted back across the training ground and, when the runner returned to her start point, the numbers found her to be slower than before.

"Again."

Once more C. Raych ran, and her instructor gritted his teeth. He had been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt, to work through any build issues, but this was just starting to get frustrating, and there was only so much he was willing to put up with. He would keep at it per the manual until the end of the week, but after that it might be a trip back to the medical department to see if, given a list of issues, there was anything _they_ could do. Surely they had been through this process enough in the past to be able to engineer a solution.

_Not that they had given him much reason for faith previously, or maybe this one was just defective._

This run however was better, not as quick as she had been earlier managing, but at least enough to indicate that any backward slide had perhaps been arrested. The next run was better still, and as the day wore on C. Raych's times continued to drop, setting a new personal best with each attempt, and not just across the dawn either, but at a steady, if slow, rate towards afternoon as well.

As he ordered his dirty and exhausted charge back into her seat, Danilo found himself in much better spirits. The gap to Soni's time had been cut by another eight seconds, admittedly still a long way off _good_ but, more encouragingly, the result had this time definitely not been the work of some outside factor: her continued improvement was proof enough of that. If he could push her a little harder, get her performing better, maybe he could get her back to the range after all.

Unconsciously, he brushed the pistol riding in its holster.

_Of course, he would need to find time to practise himself before then as well._

Perched once more on a muddy towel in the Civic's rear, Raych watched on quietly as her handler got them underway. If Danilo wanted to talk to her, he would talk, but seemingly right now he did not… but even so she was happy. She had improved, at least she thought she had improved, Danilo had _said _she had improved; he had even smiled at her after her last run! That had to be proof he was happy, did it not? And she was happy that he was happy.

Rolling back onto the road which returned to the compound, Danilo seemed to come to a decision.

"Don't bother getting up early tomorrow, I will come for you around midday."

Raych froze. What had she done wrong? He had seemed so pleased before, but now he did not want to see her? Her mind raced, surely she had not done anything wrong this time, or had she just not done enough right? What was it?

Mustering up all her courage, the girl opened her mouth, voice emerging quiet and timid. "Umm… why, sir?"

There was a pause.

"I need to go up to Rome for the morning," and then, "it's nothing you've done."

_It's nothing you've done._

The words washed across Raych like some cleansing tide, flooding her with relief in their wake.

_It's nothing you've done._

So he was happy with her!

Feeling a spike of courage at that utterance, she spoke again. "Could I… come with you?"

"No…"

_Oh._

"…you have to pass your _VdCO_ before you will be permitted off compound."

She did not dare say anything else, but what was a _VdCO_? It sounded important: she would have to ask Kara.

Unfortunately, upon her return, the elder girl was nowhere to be found, bed displaying signs of a hurried exit. The other had been asleep when she left and, being able to take care of herself now in the boot department, Raych had thought it best not to wake her room-mate. Perhaps she was elsewhere on campus, surely the other girls would be busy as well, weekend or not. It was difficult to tell what the others did without any face-to-face contact: but she was happy to spend the time with Danilo instead, she would happily have spent all her time with Danilo. She liked that word, Danilo, she liked the way it felt to say it, how it filled her mouth and rolled of her tongue: Danilo.

Would he let her say it to him? She hoped so, she would like to say it more often.

If a _VdCO_ was what she needed to spend more time with him, then she would get a _VdCO..._ she just wished she knew what it was. The way Danilo had mentioned it made it sound like some sort of test. That sounded scary, but for him she would do it, whatever it turned out to be… maybe Danilo would tell her.

_Of course he would._

Thinking no more on the subject, she headed for the showers.

* * *

Sunday, God's ordained day or rest, or so he had been told.

Under cold, bleak, skies, Danilo allowed himself a sour chuckle at that, letting his car drone its way farther up the A1 AutoRoute toward Rome. Maybe someone could have told that to the drivers he shared the tarmac with for this long, boring trip, and cleared them away back to their homes or churches. Dispensing with traffic would at least have removed one irritation from an already irritating journey.

_He hated long drives._

It was bad enough he had to be behind the wheel himself, but some company to help nullify the tedium would not have hurt either, and unfortunately he had not seen fit to ask around the previous evening. What did the other handlers do? Take a cyborg? C. Raych had seemed keen to go, but she was still not yet allowed off-compound, and frankly that was not company he particularly wanted either; it was enough to deal with work at work, let alone outside as well.

_C. Raych had wanted to go._

Ahead, the Rome (Sud) turnoff sign appeared above swiftly moving traffic, and he followed its white arrow onto another motorway.

"…_the girls can be quite possessive and jealous."_

Those had been Hilshire's words at the trattoria the other night, and Michele had nodded agreement. He had known the cyborgs were conditioned to protect their handlers, but the handover documents never stated that protectiveness would go so far as to mimic little-girl jealousy. If this were the first sign of his unit getting clingy, then it was one he would need to put an end to as soon as possible.

_In which case, telling C. Raych a _VdCO_ would allow her off-compound with him had probably not been the best bit of phrasing ever._

_Shit._

Either way, he was suddenly quite glad to have told the cyborg just that he was running errands this morning, and not doing so for her benefit.

Turning onto the Rome ring road, Danilo placed himself again into the slow lane. Even on a Sunday the traffic got heavier with each kilometre he travelled toward the Italian capital, and once he dove into its streets, navigation would become a nightmare. Keeping out of those streets for as long as possible was high on the agenda.

C. Raych would need attending to this afternoon also for another stint on the obstacle course but, after that, he would have to check if anything had been written down regarding cybernetic attachment. Come to think of it, he had seen one of the gen one girls, Henrietta possibly, trailing around after her own handler like a lost puppy. At the time he had not thought anymore of it, but if it were something more sinister… no one should have to put up with his work following him around like that… though Michele and Hilshire had both spoken affectionately of their charges. He pulled a grimace: he genuinely hoped that they, that any handler, would not actually _enjoy_ that sort of attention.

Outside, high, sound-reflecting barriers closed in on the tarmac, squeezing it down to a claustrophobic canyon and, in the midst of his musings, Danilo very nearly missed his next exit. Forcing his way between two other vehicles going for the same ramp, he joined the long string of cars headed into Rome's southern suburbs.

This was the part he dreaded most, the melee of the city, and arriving from a different direction to his usual was not going to help. His last visit to this little clothing store had been at the end of the day, approaching through the Roman centre, and once more he had to return to find something else. He hated shopping at the best of times, doubly so now for girls, he should never have listened to Priscilla and just found something on the outskirts the first time around, rather than trying to fight his way into the old city or, even better, nearer the SWA itself and saved the drive.

_Or just used the internet._

And it only got worse from here.

Traffic, traffic, more traffic, a roundabout large enough to put a park in the middle with unsigned exits, and a wrong turn or two deposited an equal parts relieved and infuriated Danilo on the banks of the Tiber. Following that north would get him within walking distance, and that would be fine enough. All things considered, it was probably a good thing he had left his gun at the Agency.

Well, this was the price he paid for doing it "right".

* * *

No hammering klaxon sounded to hurl Raych from her sleep, but she sat up with a jolt under the muted sunlight seeping through her window. Something was wrong, something was very wrong, she was supposed to be somewhere! She had slept in, Danilo would never forgive her for missing training. Panic overtook her and she was halfway out of bed before the previous day's events managed to push their way through the mess of her memory.

She halted, feet already on the carpeted floor: of course, Danilo had said he would not need her until the afternoon, she had the morning off.

_What was she supposed to do with a morning off?_

Her eyes drifted to the alarm clock on Kara's desk, half-past eight, that would explain the light outside. The clock's owner however was still nowhere to be seen, her bed in the same state of disarray as the previous night: so she couldn't ask her senior. Maybe she would have a shower, a long one, for some reason that seemed like the thing to do on a Sunday morning off. Collecting a towel and toiletries, she headed for the bathrooms.

Twenty minutes found her back and staring at an open wardrobe, studying the meagre selection of clothes arrayed there. She would have liked to put on the leggings and top from her first day, those were comfortable, and Priscilla had told her they would please Danilo, but Danilo had not told her she could wear them again... Did they _not _please him? If they didn't, then why had he bought them?

Instead, she pulled on a fresh exercise outfit, tying her hair up into the tight topknot Priscilla had shown her how to make. Slipping boots on next, she carefully did them up all the way, threading each eyelet in the military style Kara had demonstrated. That was getting easier as well, much easier, and speaking of whom…

Carefully, ensuring everything was as she had been instructed, Raych set about making her room-mate's bed. It was more difficult than her own, the thick duvet flopping heavily over where she was trying to work in a manner her own coarse wool army blankets never did. It also, she found, could not be folded into neat hospital corners; after a couple of attempts she gave up and settled for arranging its fluffy mass square instead. The sheet below however remained creased to perfection.

Her own bed was next, its multiple blankets proving also difficult to arrange, but they could at least be finally turned into something approaching the neatness she strove for.

Both beds done, and instead of risking messing up her work, Raych settled down on her desk chair to wait. What now?

In the silence of the room, new noises came to her: the gentle tick, tick, tick of Kara's clock as the seconds hand made its way around the dial, each movement seeming to last a lifetime. From outside wafted the song of a bird, meeting voices coming the other direction from farther down the corridor.

_Tick, tick, tick._

She could clean her gun again…

…no, Danilo had not given her permission to use that.

_Tick, tick, tick._

The bird stopped now, and in its place sounded the crunch of tyres on gravel, followed by footfalls of someone climbing the dorm stairs. She could go see who that was; could it be another cyborg returning from training? Or… from a mission? That would be exciting to hear about…

…but what if it was someone she had not been introduced to yet? According to Kara, not everyone had been present when she made introductions.

_Tick, tick, tick._

Nothing to do for herself, nothing she could do to help Danilo.

_Tick, tick, tick._

She could wash her clothes. In fact, she would probably have to if she were to possess anything clean to wear after today…

…Yes, she would do that, and Kara had said she should apologise to Henrietta as well, maybe she could find the first generation girl at the same time. Her room was on that floor was it not? That would be a good thing to do.

Feeling proud of herself for having come up with such a good plan, and chest swelling with a new sense of purpose, Raych retrieved the plastic garbage bag in which were stored her dirty, soiled clothes from the last two days, and headed for the laundry.

Stepping out her door, she became more aware of those voices drifting from farther along the building but, ignoring them, aimed herself at the stairs to make for the ground floor. The first storey was also empty, but as she approached ground level, the mechanical hum of an electric motor and steady thud of something wet and soft being tumbled over and over reached her ears: so she was not the only one washing. Halting to look through the dorm front doors, reading the pin board just beyond their protective panes carefully for anything new, she then turned back the opposite direction, toward the noise.

The laundry room she had been shown on the first day, with its collection of washing machines and dryers; what she had not been shown was how to operate any of them.

More pressingly right now though, it was already occupied.

From where she had been ironing, Henrietta looked up at the new arrival, and Raych froze. "Umm… hello, Henrietta. About the other…"

Without saying a word, the little generation one lifted her nose in the air, carefully unplugged the iron, coiled its lead neatly and, collecting the rest of her un-pressed clothes, made for the door. Head still held high as she brushed past Raych, and not meeting her eye, the smaller girl offered a little "hmph" as she went.

Left abandoned, Raych's shoulders slumped. She really had messed that one up, but what was she supposed to do? She had to apologise somehow, but if Henrietta would not talk… and everyone already knew Henrietta as well, but they didn't know her, what if they sided with the other girl and wouldn't talk to her _ever_… she didn't know what to do. What was she supposed to do in this situation? Would Kara know? But Kara was nowhere to be found, and she did not want to trouble Danilo…

"Are you okay?"

She just about jumped out of her skin. "No, I'm fine!"

"Well, that's good, but you look a little lost."

Turning around, the gen two found Triela standing behind her... one of Henrietta's friends. What to say?

"Umm… no-one ever showed me how to use the machines."

Triela raised her eyebrows: obviously she was going to need to drag the truth out kicking and screaming, but not just yet.

"Okay, well it's not that difficult," she pointed to a bench with a large box atop it, "the Agency supplies laundry powder if you need it, but it's not much chop, so some of us get our handlers to buy our own. Those are kept in the cupboard underneath; just make sure not to mix them up, especially Henrietta's."

_There, that was a twitch._

"The machines themselves are fairly simple, so get a scoop of powder and follow me."

Finding a spare machine, the senior cyborg walked her slightly edgy pupil through which little hatch to put powder in, and which was for softener if she had or used it, which button would start it and where to thump if the door refused to open. Demonstrating the latter, she waited for Raych to extract her clothes from the bag, but stopped her short of placing them in the front-loading drum.

"There's a sink over there, you might want to give those a rinse first… otherwise, in that state, they will come out as dirty as they went in... and make sure to clean the sink too."

Remaining by the machine, Triela watched as her charge completed the assigned tasks and returned… so it _had_ been a Henrietta issue. Waiting until Raych was halfway through loading the washer so she could not run away, the senior girl sprung her trap.

"I saw Henrietta go past in a huff before… she's still hung up over tea is she?"

Raych froze as the conversation came to a screeching halt.

"Umm…" she looked at Triela, then away again, "…I guess so?"

"Don't worry too much about it, that's just 'Etta… give her a week or so to cool down, then try apologising."

"She... is not actually angry?"

"Oh, she's angry, but you're not going to be able to do much about it for a bit."

"But… what about everyone else? What if they think I…"

That earned her a reassuring smile. "Don't worry: they know Henrietta well enough to also know she's just being 'Etta. Everyone knows your..."

_She had been going to say "your handler is working you hard", but stopped herself._

"…you're working hard. The first few weeks can be tough; going to sleep was a genuine accident, not some sort of calculated snub."

That seemed to perk the other girl up a bit as she closed the washer door and was shown how to turn it on. Hearing the water start to rush into its drum, Triela spoke again. "That will take half an hour or so… have you had breakfast yet?"

Raych shook her head.

"Come on then, let's get something to eat: can't face the day on an empty stomach."

Outside was still cold and overcast, and the two girls walked quickly, in silence, to the Agency's refectory. Following behind her shorter senior, Raych felt some of the weight pressing down on her shoulders had been lifted. Things might be ok after all.

Pushing through the hall doors and under its warm air curtain, Triela halted them to glance around the room as some of the small groups scattered across its floor looked up in interest, before turning back to their meals, and the new cyborg looked back. She had only been in here once, and Danilo had given her what she was to eat then, he had always decided what she should eat, was it okay for her to do so without him?

"Good, they're still serving breakfast." Triela's voice cut across her thoughts. "Hot meals are served from the bain-marie in the kitchen window, and there are cold choices on the islands."

Coffee and tea turned out to be stationed on a bench set against another wall, where an adult she did not know was just twisting a handle onto a large machine, which was set next to a belt-fed contraption she was told was a toaster. Beyond that, butting onto the end of the bench, were a series of glass-fronted fridges, which her guide now gestured at.

"You can take anything in those fridges with you from the refectory, and most of the cold foods as well, hot foods sometimes, but not crockery and cutlery. I'm going to get something hot, so help yourself and…" she looked around the space again, "...Marisa's over there with Allison, let's sit with them."

Left to her own devices, Raych glanced around in rising, self-conscious panic. What was she supposed to do now? Danilo wasn't here, and Triela had wandered off. Feeling that she should be seen to do at least something, she shuffled to the standing fridges to peer in through their doors at the foodstuffs contained within. Some of those looked familiar to her, the same as Danilo had brought to the obstacle course…

_That was what she would do._

Taking a plate, she grabbed what looked familiar from Danilo's choices, before proceeding to the cold-foods benches to repeat the process. There were some pastries, cold meats and muesli… surely he would he happy for her to eat those. Circling the final selection, she saw Triela heading for Marisa and Allison, and broke off to follow behind.

She caught the gen one just as the latter was taking her seat, and was motioned a chair opposite, creating a little group of four at the end of the table.

"Do you two know Raych?"

The red headed Marisa nodded. "Yeah, Kara brought her around after she got activated."

Allison however was staring at the new arrival's plate. "What on _earth_ are you eating?"

"Umm… it is just what Danilo brings for me, in the mornings."

"Surely not all mixed together like that though."

Raych felt her face heating, she had messed up again. "Umm, no… normally it is separate."

"Apple Danish and ham could work, sweet and savoury." That was Marisa. "Though, if you want my advice Raych, leave the stuff from the fridges for when you're desperate, get the good stuff when you can. After a few missions, the rest will get boring."

"Umm... it is just what Danilo brings for me," came the repeated answer.

Fortunately, Triela chose that moment to rescue her. "So how is your training going Raych? We don't see much of you around the dorm."

That perked her up a little. "I was able to tie my own boots today!"

"That's… _good_."

"…And Danilo says I am doing better on the obstacle course as well. He is up in Rome today," her face fell a little. "He says I cannot go with him until I pass a _VdCO,_ I was going to ask Kara what that was, but she is not here…"

"Kara's in Milan with Michele for the weekend," interjected Allison.

Raych looked over at the elder second generation. "Is she on a... mission?"

A shake of the head formed her answer. "No, at least I don't think so, her handler has an apartment up there and takes her along sometimes as a treat."

_Handlers could do that? That sounded nice._

"So, Kara has her _VdCO_ then?"

"Her _Verifica_?" Allison nodded. "Yeah, we all have them."

"What is it?"

"What's what?"

"A _Verifica."_

There was silence around the table for a moment before Allison spoke again, slowly, as if picking her words. "Mr Olivetti… hasn't told you yet?"

"Well, he said I needed to pass one before going off-compound."

"Umm, ok. Well _VdCO_ stands for _Verifica della Competenza Operativa…_"

"It's a test to make sure you're not a complete klutz before being allowed out in public," chimed in Marisa, brightly.

"Pretty much," the other girl shrugged, "it's a subjective test of basic skills to make sure you know what you're doing... normally one of the SRT grades it."

"And you have passed yours?"

"No cyborg has failed yet…"

"…though, I hear if you _do_ fail, your handler gets in trouble too," added Marisa, grinning as her voice took on a conspiratorial air, "and, if you fail twice, they... _recondition_ you!"

"Marisa!" Triela shot her younger sister a sharp glance.

"What? That's what everyone _says_."

"Don't worry Raych, Allison's right: the test is basic, so it's not that difficult."

Now the new cyborg looked pleadingly at her senior. "Was it hard for you?"

The blonde haired girl took another bite of breakfast before answering. "I never did one; they only started it with the second generation girls."

"Oh… for you Allison?"

"Well, it was scary at the time, but looking back it shouldn't have been."

"And you Marisa?"

"Piece of cake!"

"What about for Kara?"

"You'll have to ask her when she gets back."

"And…"

"So..." cut in Triela, before the line of questioning could go through every single resident of the dormitory, "...did anyone see Ferro's latest notice?"

"No, when did it go up?"

Realising the conversation had moved on, Raych started into breakfast, staring at the plate from which it slowly disappeared, while the chatter washed unregarded around her. So, the_ VdCO_ was basic then, but she still did not know what was in it... and how much time did she have to prepare? How much time did she _need _to prepare? Danilo seemed to think she was a long way behind, and if he _had _needed to move her back to absolute basics, then she _had_ to have a long way to go. Hopefully she would be able to do well for him, she wanted to do well for him, she would have to work harder, much harder, and if she failed, well… that just did not bear thinking about... and if she got Danilo in trouble, then, what would she do? If that happened then maybe he would be better off with a _new_ cyborg, one who could…

"Ready to go Raych?"

"Huh?"

She had been so lost in her own thoughts she did not notice the others finishing.

Now Triela was just standing to leave. "I said: are you ready to go? Your washing should be about done."

The gen two looked at her own half-completed meal. "Umm... yes."

Trailing along again behind her senior once more to be shown where to dump food scraps and put her dirty plate, the girl let herself next be ushered back out the door and toward the dorms.

"So, all the second generation cyborgs really have passed their _VdCO_ then?"

"Yes."

"First time?"

"Yes… at least that I am aware of having taken it."

Arriving in the laundry, they found Raych's washing had indeed finished and, moving it to the dryer, she was shown how to set the machine for an hour and turn it on.

"There are washing lines outside as well. It's better for your clothes to use those, but today that would be wasted effort."

"Yes, Triela."

Mission accomplished, the senior girl stretched, arms above her head, before dropping them and letting out a contented sigh.

"I'm going to head back to my room, did you want to come?"

Raych paused: she _would _like to go, otherwise she was not entirely sure what she would do with herself until her clothes dried… but that was also where Henrietta liked to go as well, and if she were there …

"Umm… no. Thank you anyway. I, umm, have other things to do."

The blonde shrugged. "Ok, suit yourself. Just remember, you're always welcome."

"Umm, thank you."

With that she was left alone in the laundry, the dryer's rhythmic whirr and thump her sole company. What _was_ she going to do with herself? How long would it be until Danilo got back? He had said he would be coming for her at midday, but what time was it now?

Sitting down on a wooden bench running the room's length, the recently minted cyborg stared at the machine as it worked.

_Tha-dump, tha-dump, tha-dump…_

It was an unnatural noise, but a calming, comforting one, and it was nice and warm in here.

_Tha-dump, tha-dump…_

What had Triela meant by "that she was aware of?" Had someone not passed their _VdCO_ after all? She would have to ask Kara...

_Tha-dump…_

Slowly, Raych's eyelids began to droop, and she slouched over onto the bench.

_Tha…_

"C. Raych!"

The girl awoke with a start, almost falling off her perch.

"Why aren't you ready for training?"

The laundry was quiet now, dryer long finished, and towering over her stood her seething handler, two shopping bags by his side.

"Umm..."

"I told you to be ready." Reaching into one bag, Danilo extracted a black, long sleeve thermal top and thrust it at her. "Put this on, and the rest in your room, I'll be waiting in the car."

Yes sir! Sorry sir!"

Grabbing the bags and abandoning her washing, the stricken girl fled.

_She had messed it up, again._


	6. CH06 Cyborg Dreams

**MEANWHILE IN ITALY**

_A Gunslinger Girl fanfiction, based on works by Yu Aida. _

* * *

_Thanks to Kiskaloo for the continued loan of Michele and Kara._

* * *

**CH06 – Cyborg Dreams**

Pounding feet, rasping breath.

Then the respite was over.

Taking one more step, Raych hurled herself at vertical wooden planking, booted toes scrabbling at its face as she impacted to give the final boost needed to catch its lip with raw fingertips.

Hauling herself bodily upward, the cyborg rolled across the timber edifice's peak to flop off its far side, getting feet under her just in time to land clumsily and send her stumbling forward, across the obstacle course finish, fetching up before her handler.

Panting heavily, Raych looked up at the man now standing over her, again immaculate in his black suit, a pair of small, round sunglasses protecting his eyes from late afternoon sun. Was that the glimmer of a smile she saw brush his lips?

"That's it for today C. Raych, get in the car."

"Yes sir."

Moving to the Civic's rear door, the girl made sure her towel was in place and slumped onto it, careful not to spread dirt on the heavy jacket laying also on coarse seat fabric. Like the rest of her clothes, like the long sleeve top she wore now, it was black: the second item Danilo had brought to keep her warm in the mornings.

Physical goal now removed for the day, exhaustion took her, draining any last dregs of energy and turning previously strong limbs into heavy, gelatinous masses, able to do little more than hang limply in their sockets. That she had come to expect, it happened every time: on the course she was tired, she knew she was tired, but it was an awareness rather than an intrusion, and she could push on without need to pause. The moment she stopped however, the moment Danilo told her the day was over, that exhaustion would flood in, leaving her barely able to climb the dorm stairs and drag herself to the showers.

_Maybe if Danilo ordered it to, the exhaustion would go away again._

That was a thought she liked.

"You did well today C. Raych," her ears pricked up, "bring your gun tomorrow, and wear your street clothes…"

The girl's heart skipped a beat, had he really just said…

"…you haven't used it in a while, so make sure to clean it again tonight."

He _had_ said it, she could have her gun, her purpose, back, and elation exploded inside her. He was happy with her again!

"Yes sir! Thank you sir! Thank you!"

That was answered by a muttered "hmph" from the front seat.

The rest of the journey passed in silence through orange-lit grounds until, arriving at the dorm, Danilo brought the car to a halt. "Same time tomorrow."

Halfway through her door already, possessions bundled in her arms, his cyborg gave a big smile back. "Yes sir!"

"And settle down."

Her face fell. "Yes sir, sorry sir… umm… I'll see you in the morning… sir."

Then she was out, and while her face had settled, she was buoyed along by the dancing happiness. Her earlier failures had been rectified, and Danilo was letting her take the place she had always wanted again: now she could have her pistol back, now she could serve him better, the way a cyborg _should _as his weapon and protector. She could rightfully call herself an Agency cyborg again.

Reaching the dorm's glassed entrance the girl looked through, checking carefully for signs of Henrietta, before slipping inside to hop around on one foot after another, removing each dirty boot.

_An Agency cyborg, like the others._

Starting up carpeted stairs on bare feet, her frenetic pace slowed a little: compared to some of the others though, she was barely worthy of the title wasn't she? She had never even been off-compound, let alone shot anyone for her handler or protected him from danger: some of the others got to go out and do that every week, to Rome or Milan, or even as far off as Sicily and many more exotic sounding places, helping their handlers serve the Agency.

But she would be worthy of that title. She _would_.

Cresting the last step, Raych headed for her room, only just remembering to knock before throwing open the door. Kara was laying on her bed, reading a magazine, which she almost dropped at the loud entry.

"Hello Kara!" Dumping her towel, boots and jacket on the floor, new arrival dove for her cupboard.

"Umm... evening, Raych. You're in a hurry?"

Pausing in her rush, the mousey haired girl turned to flash a happy smile at her recumbent companion. "Danilo let me have my gun back! He said to clean it, so I am going to do it right now."

"Congratulations!" then the other's smile became slightly more motherly, "though, it might be a good idea to go and wash up first, otherwise you're possibly going to do more harm than good, ne?"

"Huh?" Steyr case already in hand, the newer cyborg paused, before glancing down, realisation dawning as she glimpsed mud encrusted clothes, and her shoulders drooped. "Oh… umm… you're right… I am sorry."

"Don't be."

"Sorry… I will, I will go and have a shower first."

It didn't take long and, ten minutes later, a shampooed, soaped, rinsed and slightly calmer Raych was seated at her work desk, ready to open her pistol case for the first time in over a week. It felt good to again hold that rough surface in her hands, once more running a thumb along the join in its clamshell halves, over rear hinges and around to the catches at its front.

Taking a deep breath, she released the clasps and raised the lid. Inside, exactly as she had left it, lay a pistol, a Steyr M9-A1, presented to her on her very first day and, for the first time since then, a pistol she had the right to call hers. Wrapping thick fingers around its grip, the girl lifted the gun clear of its protective foam, feeling textured plastic bite firmly into her palm. Holding it steady for a second, she checked the chamber was empty and started to strip it down, savouring each movement, each little action which once more started to embed the weapon into her conscious memory, making it hers again: all of it familiar, and yet at the same time all new, and she would never take it for granted, _ever_.

Slowly, she worked through each step the ingrained knowledge prompted her to undertake, so engrossed in the task that not until the firearm once again lay assembled before her was room available for other thoughts. Lifting the completed pistol, she function checked it, enjoying the moment, and another thing Danilo had told her to do wiggled its way into her mind.

"Umm, Kara?"

Still on her luxuriously appointed bunk, the Asian featured cyborg looked up from her magazine. "Mmm?"

"What are 'street clothes'?"

That earned her a quizzical look. "Street clothes?"

"Danilo said that I should wear street clothes to training tomorrow. I do not know what he means."

"Oh…" the confused expression disappeared, "…I guess he's talking about clothes for wearing in public. I mean, you would look quite odd on the streets of Milan wearing battle dress."

"So, not my exercise clothes?"

"I imagine Mr. Olivetti means what you wore on your first day: the leggings and poncho top."

Kara jumped as her room-mate let out a little yelp of excitement. "I can wear what he gave me then?"

"I… _guess_… so?"

Raych beamed, before standing to rush to her wardrobe and open its doors, drinking in those items which were also once again hers: the three identical tops, hanging side by side, and the three sets of identical leggings.

_First her gun, and now this!_

"Do you have," she took a moment to move the new, unfamiliar, words around her mouth, "street clothes, Kara?"

There was a pause as the other girl considered the question, eyes flicking to the tall storage units sprawled around the walls on her side of the room.

"I think… most, of my clothes could be considered 'street' clothes."

"Most of your clothes are for wearing off compound?"

"Well, more like they can be worn anywhere… though some are more suited for certain places than others." Swinging her legs out of bed, the girl padded over to roll open a frosted glass wardrobe door and extracted a thick, knit jumper. "This, for example, is from Polo Ralph Lauren. I could wear it on compound, or in Milan, but not to the opera with Michele; it's too casual."

Moving from her own small collection, Raych looked over her compatriot's shoulder at the garment she held. "Are you going to take that to Milan again then?"

Another pause, then Kara gave a short laugh as realisation dawned regarding what was being referred to. "Possibly, but not for at least a few weeks yet: Milan is a special treat, so I'll figure out what to take next time when I actually get to go."

"But you have passed your _VdCO_ have you not? You can leave campus whenever you like."

That earned a small smile. "I can leave whenever my handler likes, but not of my own accord, none of us can."

Now it was Raych who looked slightly puzzled: why would anyone go _without_ her handler? "But, with a _VdCO_, you can go away whenever Mr. Pagani decides to?"

"Yes... I guess so."

"What was yours like? Was it difficult?"

"My _Verifica_?"

"Yes."

Kara stopped for a moment, "Well… I passed it, and Amadeo was my assessor. He said I did well, so it wasn't too bad."

"But what was it _like_? Was it difficult? What did you have to do?"

Putting the jumper away to buy a little thinking time, Kara sat down on her bed. "I guess I was nervous before hand, everyone is. It really is a test of basics though…"

Sitting opposite her room-mate, on her own bunk, Raych placed the Steyr's case on her lap, fingers fiddling with the clasps as she listened.

"…there's a short lecture and written component. Then pistol work on the indoor range, hand-to-hand combat and a lap around the obstacle course. There's no grading beyond pass or fail, they're really just making sure you're co-ordinated enough to make your body do what you intend to, do it safely, and not be a big security risk outside the compound."

Raych's shoulders slumped, most of what Kara had just mentioned she had never even been told of before. The obstacle course she was familiar with, but she had never been instructed in hand-to-hand combat, she had no idea what she would need to know for the written component, and her last time with a pistol… she really did have a long way to go. At this rate, she would _never_ be able to go off-compound with Danilo…

_She really did have no right to call herself an Agency cyborg yet, did she?_

Her voice was small for the next words, hope drained from it. "But, it's not _difficult_, is it?"

"Not if you've been training, and the written section is taken from the lecture, but your handler will decide when you're ready anyway."

That brought a little relief: Danilo would know what was best… but would _she_ everbe ready?

"And everyone has passed?"

"Well, not the gen one girls, it wasn't instated until us gen twos arrived."

"But all the gen twos?"

"Yes, all the gen twos have passed," Kara looked thoughtful for a second, "except for Monty."

Raych froze, she had heard that name before: the obstacle course record holder, and if someone like that had failed the test... then what chance did she have? She was barely scraping by in terms of times there, and if she were only just scraping through _there_, how would she be everywhere she had _not_ practised? She had _no _chance, she would _never _be able to serve Danilo properly, _never_…

Her shoulders slumped. "So, it _is _difficult then, everyone told me everyone had passed, Triela, Marisa, Allison…"

"Slow down, that's not the end of the story," Kara held out a hand to stop her. "Monty never passed because Monty was never assessed, she never took a _Verifica_."

"She didn't?"

"No."

"But I have never seen her around the compound, I was told that to leave…"

"Monty's…" the other girl waved hands vaguely before herself, searching for the correct words to say, "…Monty's, _different_. You don't see her around campus because she's virtually never _here_. She's always off... somewhere else." She shrugged helplessly.

"But, she never took her _VdCO_?"

"Not that I'm aware of."

"Why did she not have to take one?"

That was cause for another halt in the conversation: for that matter, why _had_ Monty been exempted from the _Verifica_? Kara's brow creased, she had simply been told that the young agent had never been assessed, a rumour backed up by Michele's testimony, and she had never thought to ask further, she had simply accepted it because…

"I actually don't know." She heard herself saying aloud. "I'll ask Michele but... it's just the sort of thing you expect to hear..."

"Why?"

There was another pause.

_Why indeed?_

"Because... it's Monty, I guess. No-one sees much of Monty, she's someone you tend to hear more _about_ than actually see..." she stopped again, re-arranging her thoughts. "Each cyborg has a role they fill, we all do general tasks of course but… look at it like this: me, I'm a sniper, as are Soni, Melanie and Rico. Marisa's particularly suited for diving and deep water, Allison can handle a car really well, Mr. Hilshire is an investigator, and Triela joins him; Mr. Ricci comes from a counter-intelligence and domestic security background… you get the idea."

Raych nodded.

"Monty and Mr. Blacker… they're a dedicated intelligence and espionage fratello, spies, they _don't_ do the same general tasks we do, they work differently, and they mostly operate beyond Italy's borders."

"Beyond?"

"Internationally: Egypt, France, the Americas, India, Asia, Africa... that sort of thing. The Padania has plenty of international contacts, not to mention wealthy sympathisers with global businesses and a global reach, the Blackers are the SWA's counter. Because they're generally so far away, they have to operate very independently, and so don't return to Rome often either. Michele says they prefer life in the cold."

"Being in the cold does not sound like something enjoyable."

Kara gave her room-mate a smile. "It doesn't mean literally in the cold, as in cold weather, more… that they stay out in the field by themselves, isolated... like, they prefer to get by on their own wit and ability, rather than rely on others. When they do return it's not for very long, and you won't see much of Monty then either; she works in with her handler and the staff instead, she doesn't really visit or train with us."

"So, do people like her then?"

A pause.

"That probably depends on who you ask. Monty doesn't really get along with anyone here in the dorm, she's... more adult than cyborg," another thought crossed the girl's mind, and her voice took on a slightly sour edge. "Michele likes her."

"Do _you_ like her?"

"Well, I don't think she likes _me_ very much but…" Kara paused again, searching once more for the correct way to explain herself, "…you know those people who you shouldn't like, but you can't bring yourself to _dislike_ because they're… them? Sort of?"

Raych shook her head, matching the motion with a look of complete incomprehension.

"Umm, they're... maybe not someone you would normally like on a personal level, but they're still someone you look up to or..." more vague arm waving, "...you'll know what I mean if you see her, an aspirational figure maybe? Have you ever seen any of_ The Avengers_? Or a James Bond film?"

Another head shake.

"Do you know if your handler has signed off for you to see either?"

And a third.

"This is going to be more difficult to explain then. Monty's… well she's pretty, glamorous, looks good in just about anything she wears, is capable, and Mr. Blacker…" the girl stopped. "You know what might work better? Let me tell you a story. I said Monty and Mr. Blacker tend to work independent of the SWA's resources a lot? Well, a month or so before you were activated, that put them in Monaco on their own information, chasing a Padania money source..."

"Monaco?"

Kara's brows went up, surely everyone knew Monaco. "It's a small principality on the Italian end of the French Riviera... it's also a tax haven and probably the richest, most glamorous place in Europe. Michele sometimes takes me there for the Grand Prix, and it's pretty amazing. Anyway, they were in Monaco, and needed a yacht, so they called Michele..."

* * *

As it had been the previous Friday, the handlers' office was all but deserted when Danilo arrived. Unlike that ordeal however, the new agent was feeling much more positive about the task which lay ahead of him. This time, while a drink would have been appreciated, he would not need it simply to drown his sorrows.

Only one other occupied the room: a younger man with blonde hair, whom lounged back in a tilting seat, feet on the desk, reading a magazine. From the depths of memory, a name swam up to Danilo's mind: Ricci, Alessandro Ricci, he had been at the range on Raych's first day with one of the red headed cyborgs. Any intrusion seemed not to have disturbed him though, and the new arrival made for his own station.

It wasn't until he was halfway across the room that the other appeared to notice his presence, lowering the magazine.

_Not a magazine_, _a ballet programme... what did he have that for?_

"In from running your girl ragged again?"

"Cyborg," corrected Danilo, absently, "and yes, we're finished for the day."

There was a pause.

"Ricci, by the way, Alessandro Ricci; I'm paired with Petra."

"I know. Danilo Olivetti, and you have already seen C. Raych."

"Pleasure to meet." There was another silence before Alessandro continued, tone neutral. "You're pushing quite hard with her..."

The newer handler fixed his counterpart with a sharp look. "The way I see it, until she's deployable, she's just a burden on the SWA, and it looks no good if she is just costing the organisation money, so yes: I am pushing hard... and like it or not, it has been effective."

"She's progressing then?"

"I will be starting her back on the shooting range tomorrow." By now Danilo had reached his desk, and slid his chair out to sit down. "We will see how _that_ goes."

Ricci's eyebrows went up. "Meaning?"

"You were there last time she held a pistol, her performance was pathetic."

"To be fair, she had just been activated. A week in, she should have some better control over her body."

"So I keep reading." The handler's face was grim. He had thought about it afterwards: the problem wasn't so much that C. Raych's technique had been bad, the individual components of what she did had actually seemed quite good, but those components never seemed to come together as a whole. It was as if she had the knowledge, but no ability to put it into practice neatly.

_Surely, if knowledge and theory could be loaded directly into her brain, someone could have also given her how to string everything together._

Some of that mess _might_ be able to put down to co-ordination, but...

"...but I doubt that's all. It's like they told her what to do, but not how to do it."

"Well, I guess there are still limits to the technology."

"It couldn't be that much of a stretch, especially to speed up deployments. In the SWA's position _I_ certainly would have..."

Leaving the programme on his desk, the younger man rose from his seat. "I'm sure if the medicos could have, they _would _have."

"...and of course pistol is only one part of what she needs to learn, she also needs to train in hand-to-hand combat before she can qualify."

"I hear the GIS can help with that if you don't want to do it _yourself_," there was a quiet swish as Alessandro pushed his chair back under the desk, "and now, I must bid you a goodnight."

"You're off?"

The younger man jabbed a thumb at his chest. "Alert fratello... just thought I would see if there was anyone around before heading to bed. Ciao."

"Good luck."

Working through the logon screen of his terminal as the other handler departed, Danilo ran over what had just been said. Certainly he had no intention of training C. Raych in unarmed combat himself, so the GIS might be a possibility... that was assuming they could provide sufficient challenge to a cyborg. At least there, his unit's lack of finesse should not prove such an issue, and could be balanced out by brute strength.

Before him, the computer's desktop stuttered to life, and he gave the machine an extra minute as it booted up seemingly innumerable background programmes. For all its advancements in the development of cybernetics, the Agency still ran at a frankly prehistoric level of technology elsewhere, and he had quickly learnt not to even bother trying to do anything until the PC was good and ready to let him.

_He may as well go get a coffee._

Arriving back at the desk five minutes later, he was able to find the reporting template provided and open up a copy, quickly filling out its cover sheet.

So, where to start...

Well, there was no point in giving a pessimistic outlook to the brass.

_"Cyborg Raych has, as of training this afternoon at the Social Welfare Agency primary outdoor obstacle course facility, attained a sufficient level of co-ordination to recommence firearms training. Despite earlier setbacks, an intensive schedule of measured physical stress has allowed this rapid recovery, and it is anticipated that she will be ready to be assessed for her _Verifica della Competenza Operativa_ within..."_

* * *

Darkness.

Well, not quite.

Laying in bed, eyes open, Raych was able to make out her room's contents in a thin sheet of low light, entering through the slit between curtains.

From across the space came the soft sound of Kara's breathing, sleeping soundly, but _her_ mind was too busy for sleep. Just this afternoon she had thought Milan and Sicily sounded exotic, that her street clothes were expensive and beautiful. Not that she was ungrateful for what she had given, they were perfect clothes Danilo had chosen, but how little had she known. The world was much bigger than she had ever imagined, much more glamorous than she had ever dreamed, and some were allowed to travel in it, extending the Agency's reach, the same agency _she_ belonged to.

Could Danilo take her those same places? Of course he could, Danilo could do anything he wanted.

_She_ wanted to find out more.

It sounded exciting and adventurous, that enchanting life so distant from the Agency's compound, and to think she still was yet to travel farther than its walls and fences.

Despite Kara having pointed out that her reality was more to be expected, that final thought brought a wave of depression to mute her excitement: _no farther than the compound walls_, she really did have a very long way to go. That didn't mean she could not find out more though, find out what she would be doing once she attained that magical pass to go with her handler wherever he chose.

Her senior apparently already had a few mission reports stored she would ask Mr. Pagani to print out, and had said that, if she were to ask Danilo and he signed off for them, more could be gained, written by Monty and her handler themselves, not to mention the other fratelli. Not every report was available: some, most, were classified far beyond what she would ever be allowed to read, and even those which were flagged as "appropriate for dissemination to cyborgs", Kara's words, were heavily censored.

But the thought of that made it sound even more exciting, and she knew exactly with whose reports she was going to start.

* * *

Standing just inside the dorm's entrance, Raych pulled her heavy coat closer against the cold seeping in through its glass panes. It felt good to be wearing these clothes once more, from the poncho down to leggings and loosely tied boots. The soft fabric of her top bunched up into the jacket's arm holes admittedly, creating a lump and restricting movement a little but... it felt good. She was worthy of these things Danilo had given her again.

_She was worthy again._

If she was worthy of these clothes, then maybe he would allow her to call him by name now. Would he? She should ask, she didn't want to annoy him, to question him, she had no right to question him, but...

From farther away came the sound of a car engine and crunch of tyres, barely audible to her, but the signal that she was to get moving all the same. Allowing herself a moment to savour the feel of her pistol case in one hand, to actually be taking it with her, she pushed open the door.

Only as it swung shut again did she hear feet rushing quickly down the stairs behind, and Petra burst out of the building, dressed and carrying what had to be a firearm case, striding toward the road.

"Petra?"

Only when the red headed teenager saw it remained clear did she turn back around. "Sorry, good morning Raych."

Stopping short of the other girl, Raych paused: what was she supposed to say now? She wasn't certain. "Umm... good morning? Umm... why are you..."

At that moment, the approaching car emerged from darkness behind its headlights and crunched to a halt beside the two cyborgs.

It was not Danilo's, but rather a tiny hatchback with a fabric roof.

"...here?"

In the driver's seat, a blond haired man, presumably Mr. Ricci, waved and Petra moved quickly to its rear, dropping down a hatch there to place her firearm inside, replying as she went.

"We're the alert fratello!" The access was slammed shut. "Just got called out, have a good day!"

And with that she was gone, door closing as the little car rolled rapidly away, leaving the younger cyborg alone.

An alert fratello, she had never heard of an alert fratello before. It sounded important, and looked exciting, considering how fast Petra had been going it had to be, did it not? Was that something she would do when she had her _VdCO_?

Now another vehicle turned into view, and before long Danilo's car also halted in the same place Mr. Ricci's had, rear door swinging open for her.

"Get in."

Ensconced in her seat, Raych felt them start to accelerate away. Should she ask Danilo if she could use his name? She really did want to ask... but she did not want to annoy him, she did not want to ask an unnecessary question, he wouldn't like that, but if she didn't ask him then she might never know...

...but she also had another question she wanted to ask. Maybe she should just...

"Good morning... Danilo."

The last word was a squeak, fear constricting her throat and softening her voice to bare audibility, and she winced, awaiting the rebuke.

"Hmph."

Nothing.

No response.

Did that mean Danilo did not mind her using his name? Had he not heard her? Or, was he furious? She did not know, she really did not know but... she _really_ wanted to be able to use it, maybe she would try again later. Leaning over, she instead retrieved her breakfast from where it was bagged on the floor, and started to eat.

The indoor range was not so far away as the obstacle course, and it was only by grace of the range clerk not having opened the facility up for the day that she was able to finish, before Danilo directed her through to the firing line.

This early in the morning the range itself was deserted, and Danilo settled himself onto benching running behind the lanes to watch as his charge started to fill her magazines, the click of each round seating home reverberating around hard concrete walls. He was going to need to get her a holster fairly shortly; she would need time to practice with it prior to her assessment. Of course, all going to plan, she would soon be requiring her entire operational kit... he would have to chase up where the armoury was regards acquiring carbines while he was here.

Finally the last round seated home, and the handler stood up to run out a paper target for his charge, stopping it short at seven metres.

Before he could move back however, C. Raych spoke. "Umm... Danilo?"

He halted. "Yes?"

"Umm... some of the other girls..."

"Cyborgs, never forget that."

"Sorry, sir... some of the other cyborgs... Kara actually... said that I might be allowed, if you said I could, and printed them out... beallowedtoreadsomeoftheotherfratelli'smissionrepo rts." The last words came out all in a rush, and she drew another breath. "Could I sir? Please?"

It took Danilo a moment to decipher what had just been said.

_Well, it would certainly save having to find her something else to do, and it beat a useless novel..._

But later: right now she should not have the time to read, she had more pressing issues to concentrate on. Moreover, what if she were to read the actions of another fratello and decide they would be suitable to apply to herself? Until his cyborg was bedded in, he did not want her acquiring any bad habits the other units may have fallen into, or worse, that their handlers may have taught them.

"No..."

C. Raych's shoulders slumped.

"...not right now. Once you are passed-out for operations, I will consider it again. Now get to work."

That seemed to perk her back up again. "Yes sir!"

Stepping back to the bench, Danilo sat down as the cyborg donned protective glasses and loaded her pistol. There it was again: her stance was good, and each step she undertook was as near to textbook as he had seen, but none of it seemed to flow together. Bracing for the inevitable, he pulled on his own hearing protection.

"Fire."

_Bang!_

The first round flew off downrange, opening up a hole in the paper target as it passed through, the sheet bucking under the impact.

"Continue."

Carefully and methodically, C. Raych unloaded the remainder of her magazine into that dangling foe, and her handler let out a breath he had not realised he was holding. The evidence of each bullet's passing marked the page, admittedly scattered across it without creating anything which might have been referred to as a "group", but the paper had, joy of joys, collected every round directed at it.

Standing, he retrieved the target, running a new one out so the cyborg could continue, before sitting down to study what now lay in his hands. It certainly was not perfect, far from, but it was an improvement over what had gone before, and for that he should probably be thankful. Seemingly though, having brought her up off the bottom rung of one task, he was now starting again from square one on another.

_Well, not quite, but so close that there was no discernable difference._

The next target was retrieved, and so it continued. It was more difficult to measure improvement here than it was with a stop watch, the seemingly random spray of bullet holes never appearing to visibly close up to a measurable extent, and eventually, the handler stopped trying to judge. She had to be improving, didn't she? He would compare the first and final targets of the day, and also next time remember to bring a ruler and compass.

Either way, it looked as if, just like the obstacle course before, this was going to be a long and painful process.

_Perhaps he should not have been so optimistic in his report._


End file.
